


Losers In College - September

by bcnvcrly, confunded, hanscomarsh, hiyo_silver_away, mikehanlonstan, shanisafan



Series: Losers In College RP [3]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, M/M, Memory Loss, Reddie, Roleplay, Roleplay Logs, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, benverly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-10 18:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15955346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bcnvcrly/pseuds/bcnvcrly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/confunded/pseuds/confunded, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanscomarsh/pseuds/hanscomarsh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiyo_silver_away/pseuds/hiyo_silver_away, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikehanlonstan/pseuds/mikehanlonstan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanisafan/pseuds/shanisafan
Summary: After gradually moving away during high school and spending a couple of years at different universities, the Losers, for one reason or another, all end up back in Maine (along with Patty Blum). They have all basically forgotten each other over time, so as they meet and form new friendships, they will, little by little, piece together their lost memories.





	1. Eddie Kaspbrak Makes a Call

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of a series, so please [begin at Part One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655035/chapters/36362298) for everything leading up to this!
> 
> Ratings and warnings may change; authors will vary each chapter. [Click here for more info about this project!](https://losersincollege.tumblr.com/about)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the Labor Day weekend party, Eddie has a conversation with his mother, which is… always a set-back. CW for Sonia-typical emotional abuse/manipulation.

**Sunday, 09/02, morning; York Hall, Room 204**

Eddie wakes up at nine o’clock on the morning after the party with a searing pain in his head and nausea brewing in his stomach. He blindly feels around for a water bottle, because it hurts too much to keep his eyes open, but the only thing his hand manages to grab onto is the half-empty beer he abandoned on his desk the night before. Of course, he doesn’t realize this until the lukewarm liquid hits his tongue, tasting like piss in the light of day. He spits it out into the room’s small plastic trash bin, and tosses the can in there too, for good measure.

He feels _so_ fucking sick.

Sitting back down on his bed, he lets out a groan and holds his head in his hands, trying to will the nausea away. He knows that won’t work, though. Puking is imminent, he shouldn’t bother trying to put it off.

“Stan?” he calls out miserably, and looks over at his roommate’s bed. It’s empty and neatly made. Either he never came home last night or he got up early and is already at breakfast. The second option is more likely, but there’s really no telling - for all Eddie knows, Stan is simply a figment of his own imagination, like the roommate character in _A Beautiful Mind_. There is never any evidence left behind that he does anything at all, and his side of the room might as well be a museum. But Eddie’s _sure_ he came home (and that he exists). _Stan_ wouldact responsibly in the first week of the semester, right?

 _Yes, because he isn’t like you,_ he thinks to himself, feeling sick again. The voice in his head sounds an awful lot like his mother’s, in that moment.

At that realization, he slips his shoes on, grabs his keys, and runs to the communal bathroom down the hall. There are some guys already there, but he doesn’t stop to examine who. He doesn’t want to know. The bathroom already smells like vomit, which is typical of a dorm bathroom the morning after a big party, so it’s only seconds after he locks the stall door that Eddie is on his knees, gripping the edge of the toilet seat.

Eddie has vomited a lot in his life. When he was a kid, sometimes the meals his mother gave him would make him wretch. She would claim he was ill, and keep him home for a few days, but he was sure it was the food - _sure of it_ , though he never dared to tell her that, and was too afraid to look for proof. Sometimes, his asthma attacks would get so bad that he would throw up, though he’s not sure how normal that is, to this day. Other times, he’d feel so guilty about one thing or another _(liking boys - it was always liking boys - and the fear of going to hell)_ that he’d end up hugging the toilet bowl then, too. He never told is mother about those times, though, and if she did catch him, he’d blame it on something else. She didn’t need to know about the guilt. It would hurt her too much.

College, too, brought its fair share. Eddie’s certain his weak stomach ( _weak lungs, weak spirit, weak everything_ ) is the only reason it took him almost two full semesters to end up in the hospital. If it wasn’t drinking too much that brought on the vomiting, it would surely be that moment when he was with a man, on the precipice of doing something idiotic, and his drunk mind would finally catch up to his body. The ensuing panic would always trigger his asthma, and nausea. Always nausea.

That’s what he thought would happen the night before, with Richie. It didn’t, but only because he had enough foresight to stop before it reached that point. _Would_ it have happened that way, though? He’s not sure. Richie seems different. He’s not scary. But maybe that’s the scariest thing about him.

This is what is running through Eddie’s mind as he clears his stomach of the remnants of the night before. Blue, the color of the frat’s jungle juice.

Disgusting.

A few minutes later, he’s back in his dorm room changing into fresh clothes. After that, he takes a handful of Tylenol for the headache - more than the suggested amount, surely, but _probably_ not enough to exceed the daily limit. Two pills hardly do anything for Eddie, not anymore. Three or four might do the trick, though. Sometimes he simply doesn’t bother counting.

After that, it’s back to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. The smell of vomit still lingers in the air, so he runs to one of the stalls and dry heaves again, and then brushes his teeth a second time.

When he ventures to the dining hall, he keeps his head down, afraid of running into anyone from last night, especially Richie. He can’t face the awkwardness just yet. Quickly, he grabs some toast and scrambled eggs in a takeout box and gets back to the safety of his room without having to make eye contact with anyone.

The eggs help.

So does the toast.

And, so does sleeping for another forty-five minutes.

At around ten thirty, he remembers that he needs to call his mom. It was an agreed upon _condition_ of him not going home for the long weekend. He would call her on Sunday, no excuses. She said he had to, and he said he would.

So that is what Eddie does.

“You had me worried, Eddie,” she says when she answers the phone. “I thought you forgot about me.”

“Sorry, I… slept in,” he says quietly, thankful that his headache is gone. He cringes, wishing he hadn’t just apologized for no reason. Old habits die hard. Lifelong habits die harder.

“You weren’t doing anything you shouldn’t be, were you?” his mother asks, the worry in her voice apparent. She knows what he’s capable of, all too well.

“No ma, just tired. It’s been a long first week.”

She sighs loudly. “I wish you came home. It’s a holiday weekend, and your aunt-”

“It takes a lot of time and money to get from here to Queens.”

There is a moment of silence.

“Time and money didn’t seem like much of a _concern_ to you when you _left me_ , Eddie.”

Shoulders tensing, Eddie moves to sit down on his bed. He’s so glad Stan isn’t around to hear this, even just his end of the conversation.

“I didn’t… I didn’t leave _you,_ I left _New York._ ” A partial lie, of course.

“Yes you did, _Eddie!_ ” she cries, voice pitching as she says his name. He can almost _feel_ the tears welling up in her eyes on the other end of the line, but he forces himself to swallow his guilt. “You said all _kinds_ of awful things to me, throwing terrible accusations around… then I woke up the next morning to find you _gone._ I still can’t believe you would do such a terrible thing to your own mother. Running off to those awful people -”

“They aren’t awful people, ma, they’re my grandparents.”

“They filled your head with lies about me!”

 _Did they though? Or was it the other way around?_ he thinks bitterly. But he doesn’t say it. He can’t have another fight like that, not today. So instead he says, “I just needed to take a break from the city. I wasn’t _well_ there. You want me to be _well,_ don’t you?”

“If you just let _me_ take care of you-”

“I need to take care of _myself_ for a change.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she says sympathetically. “You know you can’t do that.”

Eddie’s breath catches. She’s right, afterall. But he’s trying to learn.

“You remember what happened the last time you ‘took care of yourself,’ don’t you?” she continues, and her voice sounds so concerned. When he closes his eyes, though, he pictures her smiling. “You made yourself sick, Eddie. You’re too easily influenced by others. You always end up with bad people if I’m not there to guide you, you _know_ that.”

 _You don’t even know the half of it,_ he wants to say. He wants to tell her about just how bad things really were when he was at Fordham, wants to paint a picture for her, of him on his knees in a club bathroom, too fucked up on ecstasy and Adderall to feel guilty about anything. Not until the next day, at least. He wants _so badly_ to ruin her day with that image, but he won’t. He _can’t._

As far as she knows, he abused his medication a little and drank too much because no one was around to tell him no, no one was around to _take care of him._ And that's true, too - just not the whole truth. Sure, she saw some incriminating photos on his now-deleted instagram account, but they don’t talk about that. She would rather pretend not to know how he --

“Eddie? Are you there?”

He blinks. “Sorry, yeah.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Just a headache.”

“Did you take something? You know how your headaches get.”

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

“You know that saying that only makes me worry more. This is why you should be _home_.”

He rubs his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. “Mommy, can we talk about something else?”

“... Fine,” she says, followed by a long, uncomfortable pause. He can hear her sniffling, but her tears hold far less power over the phone, and she must know that, otherwise she wouldn’t have dropped the subject so easily. He thinks she might be waiting for him to apologize, but when he doesn’t, she finally moves on. “How is that new school?”

“Good, so far.”

“And your classes?”

“Good.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

“Have you gone to the health center yet?”

“No, I haven’t needed to.”

“You should go, just so you’re familiar with it. Have you transferred your prescriptions yet?”

“No.”

“Eddie.”

“What?”

“Fine, _I’ll_ do it, if you're going to give me attitude about it,” she says haughtily, as though she’s martyring herself just by offering, but Eddie knows she’s thrilled to take on the responsibility. “I’ll transfer them back to Mr. Keene’s pharmacy. It’s still open, I think his son has taken over… I’ll have to make sure he’s just as _trustworthy_ , but -”

“I can do it, it’s fine.”

“ _I’ll_ do it. I need to make sure it actually gets done. God knows your _grandparents_ haven’t thought about these things.”

“They didn’t need to, ma, you kept mailing the refills…”

She lets out an annoyed huff. “Well I’m just slapping the cards down, honey! They don’t know how to care for you properly. They never even called to ask about your medication.”

“That’s because I’m an adult.”

“Just because you’re an ‘adult’ legally does not mean you _know anything,_ Edward!” she shouts suddenly. If she were right in front of him, he knows her face would be red, her beady eyes wide, nostrils flaring. But she's not here, so it's easier for him to maintain his composure. “How am I supposed to trust you when the only time you left home before this, you almost _died?!_ And then you acted like a petulant _child_ by running away from home! Do you blame me for worrying??”

“...No.” _She’s right._ “You’re right.”

“I know I am, sweetie. I don’t blame _you_ for any of this, you know,” she says, voice sweet again. She sniffles loudly. “If anything, it’s _my_ fault for not being a good enough mother.”

His brows knit together as guilt starts to settle like an anchor in his chest. “No, you-”

“No, Eddie, it’s true. But there was only so much I could do, as a single mother, with such a willful, sickly child.” She sighs heavily. “I did the best that I could.”

“I know you did.”

“And now you’re _punishing_ me by going to school _states_ away when you know I can’t come get you or even visit because your aunt it so sick.”

 _There it is._ “I’m not punishing you, ma...”

“Yes you are! And you know it’s getting harder for me to get around. I was counting on you to be here to help around the apartment. You need me to take care of you, but I need _you_ to take care of me now, too.”

The guilt Eddie feels is palpable now. He knows she’s reaching the point of immobility, due to her size; it was the only thing that almost prevented him from leaving Queens. It wasn’t _quite_ convincing enough at the time, when he was angry and feeling suffocated, but now…

“I’m sorry, ma.”

“You should be! How can you be so _selfish?_ ”

“I-”

“You know I can’t work, and now that you’re over eighteen I’m not getting your father’s social security checks anymore... and disability benefits for Cheryl and I can only cover so much of the expenses..."

Eddie closes his eyes again, the corners stinging. His throat feels tight. “I know. I - I can get a job here, and send money-”

“It’s not the same, Eddie! You should be _here._ If you weren’t so ungrateful, you would be!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, what’s done is done. You have to at least finish out the semester there before you come home,” she says disdainfully. “Because lord knows I’d never hear the end of it if you came home now and your grandparents lost out on that precious _tuition money_.”

“Right…”

He can hear his mother chewing on something. “Well, now that that’s settled - have you made any new friends?” she asks, but not with the level of genuine interest anyone else would ask. Rather, her tone is suspicious.

“Not really,” he says automatically, thinking about Richie. It isn’t as though he’s typically open with her about the friends that he makes. Not anymore. But something deep in his gut demands that he not tell her about Richie at all. Somehow, he gets the feeling that even breathing his name would be enough to wake a sleeping dragon, which simply can’t happen.

_(... she’s only eating me because she loves me…)_

“I see,” she says flatly.

“There are some nice people in my classes,” he says, in an attempt to brush past the subject. “And my roommate is nice. He’s very clean.”

“Probably a fairy,” his mother says dismissively. He wants to point out that _he’s_ clean, too, but knows that she would rather give the credit for that to her own good parenting, though she herself could possibly pass for a hoarder.

“He hasn’t mentioned liking guys, so…” he starts, but trails off. Why is he saying this? It shouldn’t matter _who_ Stan likes, because Stan’s life shouldn’t matter to his mother. “Um, listen, ma, I have a lot of homework to do, so I should probably go do that.”

“But we only just started talking!”

“It’s just, like, a lot, so…”

“Oh _fine_. You’ll call me again soon? Or at _least_ answer the phone when I call?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“You know I love you, Eddie.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“... I love you, too.”

“That’s my good boy.”

He hangs up, and immediately lays back on the mattress to stare up at the ceiling. He knew calling his mother wouldn’t make him feel better, but he hadn’t expected it to make him feel so much _worse_.

After a few minutes, his phone buzzes, and for one panicked moment he thinks she’s calling him for round two, but it’s just a text. From Richie.

_God... Richie..._

Eddie goes over the night before in his head before daring to reply. They met just as soon as he arrived, almost as if Richie was waiting for him. Maybe he was. They played beer pong - he was already drunk by that point. He remembers leaning into him, wanting to feel his warmth, and later… on the dance floor, the rush he felt with Richie’s hands on him, pulling him in. Richie has big hands - he realized that on the night they went to the movies, but it was so much more intoxicating when they were holding him close like that.

He moves one hand over his stomach now, trying to feel the ghost of Richie’s fingertips against his skin, but it isn’t the same.

They were upstairs at some point, and then he had an asthma attack. Why? It wasn’t the smoke. Smoke never actually had that effect on him. It was something Richie said. He can’t remember what. Does it really matter? No… what matters is that Richie didn’t leave him. That was the perfect opportunity to. Anyone else would have. Others before him have, and readily. But Richie didn’t.

He smiles, and replies to Richie’s text.

They kissed. When they danced again, they kissed. And it was _his_ choice. He _never_ makes the first move, but he wanted so badly to kiss Richie. There is a feeling, right beneath the surface of his memory, that it was more than just a kiss… there was something there, a feeling he couldn’t quite place at the time and is simply unfathomable to him now. Terrifying, but not enough to make him run.

( _It won’t do you any good to run, Eddie.)_

No, he definitely didn’t run. He fucking brought Richie back to his room. What the fuck was he _thinking?_ What kind of message did _that_ send?

 _‘He thinks you’re a whore now,’_ he can hear his mother say, clear as day. That’s what she would say, if she knew. She’d say so much more than that. She’d say everything she said when she brought him home from the hospital a year ago. That was the only time she ever addressed it, the worst sickness of all - according to her. Since then, nothing - but he can still hear her. _‘And if he doesn’t yet, he will.’_

His hand moves up to his neck, pressing his fingers against the sensitive, purpling area Richie had focused on at one point. It didn’t go too far - he didn’t allow it to. He stopped. Richie respected that. Maybe he didn’t get the wrong idea, after all. Maybe he wants -

Wants what? _A relationship?_ Eddie almost laughs out loud at that. No, it’s pointless to entertain that kind of idiotic fantasy. Richie wouldn’t want that from _him._ He probably doesn’t want anything, anymore. He didn’t get what he wanted last night, so why would he?

Richie _stayed_ , though. They never stay.

Sure, he _stayed_ , but he already established that he’s persistent. He might stay for a bit, but then he’ll either get what he wants and leave, or he’ll give up and leave. Either way, a guy like that will never really want _Eddie_ , not once he finds out how pathetic he truly is. Eddie can’t take care of himself, after all - everyone knows that.

He looks at his phone again. Richie had replied, so he texts him back. They start talking about the story Richie told the night before, the one Eddie had fallen asleep to. He’d almost forgotten about it, but remembering it now fills him with a comforting warmth. Thinking of Richie’s voice somehow pushes those negative thoughts away. What’s more, it pushes his _mother’s_ voice away, if only a little.

Why is he so determined not to trust Richie? He listened at every turn throughout the night, took care of him after his asthma attack, stayed until he fell asleep, and, as far as Eddie knows, left without trying anything sketchy. What is there to be so suspicious of?

Why can’t he just let himself _have this?_

_‘Something told me to become friends with you.’_

Right. That’s why. Richie just wants to be _friends_ , he said so himself. There is nothing to be suspicious of, that might very well be true, but there is also nothing to let himself have.

That’s all there is to it. It has to be, no matter how hard it is to convince himself of that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow us/chat with the Losers on Tumblr! [losersincollege](https://losersincollege.tumblr.com)
> 
> Author on this chapter:  
> Eddie - [ao3: confunded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/confunded); [tumblr: eddiefuckingkaspbrak](https://eddiefuckingkaspbrak.tumblr.com)  
> 


	2. Richie & Eddie's Awkward Next-Day Hangout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost right after Eddie gets off the phone with Sonia, Richie comes over for an awkward and confusing conversation. Or, the one where Eddie's baggage starts to show and Richie eats Kraft Mac n' Cheese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references Reddie's [post-party chapter from Part One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655035/chapters/37058574). So start there if you haven't already read it!

  **TEXTING - Sunday, 09/02, after Eddie’s call with Sonia**

 **[Richie]**  
Morning sleepy head!

 **[Eddie]**  
hey  
it's not morning

 **[Richie]**  
I JUST woke up. So to me it is.

 **[Eddie]**  
oh haha  
i usually wake up pretty early after i drink

 **[Richie]**  
It knocks me out.

 **[Eddie]**  
apparently hah

 **[Richie]**  
How are you feeling?

 **[Eddie]**  
alright, it caught up to me this morning a little, but breakfast helped. you?

 **[Richie]**  
I got sick around 3, drank a lot of water then I was good.

 **[Eddie]**  
aww.... yeah, we kind of drank a lot  
i don't even remember my roommate coming home, i was out cold

 **[Richie]**  
Clearly my storytelling skills were too good!

 **[Eddie]**  
oh right haha  
sorry to say, but i don't really remember what it was about… was it a dumpster?

 **[Richie]**  
alskdjhf I’m offended! It was some of my best work.  
Actually, I can't remember it either.

 **[Eddie]**  
i'm sure it will come to me  
haha, was there not a dumpster?

 **[Richie]**  
There was, two kids hid behind it...  
Oh! From bullies.

 **[Eddie]**  
oh haha, just like every coming of age movie from the 80's  
although i guess in the movies it's usually kids being thrown _into_ a dumpster  
and they're always unrealistically clean, and no one ever seems all that bothered by the smell  
they come back out with one single banana peel on their head and then go back to normal life  
like if you've ever seen the neverending story, the dumpster in that movie is barely a dumpster

 **[Richie]**  
I feel like you should have told the story. This is better than whatever I came up with!

 **[Eddie]**  
i'm not telling a story, i'm stating facts

 **[Richie]**  
It was entertaining either way.

 **[Eddie]**  
oh

 **[Richie]**  
Oh what?

 **[Eddie]**  
i was saying oh to what you said

 **[Richie]**  
Oh.  
So did you have fun last night?

 **[Eddie]**  
yeah, did you?

 **[Richie]**  
I had a blast!

 **[Eddie]**  
really?

 **[Richie]**  
Of fucking course! Drinking, dancing, talking, kissing a cute guy. All I need.

 **[Eddie]**  
haha  
yeah

 **[Richie]**  
y e a h

 **[Eddie]**  
yeah, parties are fun

 **[Richie]**  
So just the party was fun?

 **[Eddie]**  
the night was fun  
i should probably bring my inhaler to the next one though, i'm not sure why i didn't  
but of course when i don't bring it, i need it hah

 **[Richie]**  
Oh my god, yeah, are you okay?

 **[Eddie]**  
oh, yeah, it's not a big deal  
you were with me afterward, you saw i was okay

 **[Richie]**  
I was so worried. But I'm glad I didn't fuck up in helping.

 **[Eddie]**  
no, you didn't  
i don't even remember why it happened

 **[Richie]**  
Weed/drinking combo.  
Or maybe I said something to upset you.  
I'm not sure… I couldn't really tell.

 **[Eddie]**  
probably the smoke yeah  
sorry about that  
i probably apologized already but, yeah

 **[Richie]**  
Nothing to be sorry about!  
Seriously, last night was really great, Eddie. Like don't worry about anything that happened.

 **[Eddie]**  
thanks, yeah it was fun to hang out

 **[Richie]**  
It was and we should do it again!

 **[Eddie]**  
yeah, that'd be cool

 **[Richie]**  
Great, just let me know when and where and I'm there.

 **[Eddie]**  
okay

 **[Richie]**  
Do you have anything fun planned today?

 **[Eddie]**  
no, i was just going to do some of the reading for school before it piles up

 **[Richie]**  
I did all my school reading before the semester started. So the first few weeks will be easy sailing.

 **[Eddie]**  
why

 **[Richie]**  
Why what?

 **[Eddie]**  
why did you do it all before the semester started?

 **[Richie]**  
Idk, I do it by habit. Once I get a textbook, I read through it so I don't have to later.

 **[Eddie]**  
oh  
i don't think i'm smart enough for that kind of habit

 **[Richie]**  
Haha. I wouldn't call it smart. Just something I do.

 **[Eddie]**  
well if you actually remember what you read, it's smart

 **[Richie]**  
Memorizing doesn't make a person smart.

 **[Eddie]**  
i guess  
well i should probably focus on that now  
so i'll see you around

 **[Richie]**  
Oh okay. Well text me if ya get bored.

* * *

**Sunday, 09/02, early afternoon; York Hall Room 204**

Richie spends the better part of two hours reading over Eddie's cryptic text messages. He should have known better then to text him. If he had waited until the next time they saw each other before talking, he would not feel so confused. Except he didn’t _want_ to wait until their next class. Last night left him with an infinite number of questions, about an already baffling person.  
  
He goes into the dorm kitchen to make Kraft Mac  & Cheese. Since he is feeling weird, he decides to make two packets, but as he finishes stirring and turns the stove off, he realizes it is far too much. "Well, shit."

His and Bill's mini-fridge is already filled to capacity. Then an idea hits, and he texts Eddie, _'I made too much mac and cheese. So I am bringing you the leftovers.'_ Then he tosses the pasta in a big bowl, grabs two spoons, and starts walking toward Eddie's room.

.

Eddie texts Richie back right away with just _‘oh um, okay cool’_ , agreeing to this weird idea. Just as he hits send, however, his nerves start to take on a life of their own. After last night's... various _situations_ , and the conversation with his mother earlier that morning, he's not exactly in the right frame of mind to be around Richie.

He frets for another minute before beginning to text Richie again to tell him not to bother, but then there is a knock on his door. _Jesus he's quick,_ he thinks miserably before getting up. He almost wishes his roommate were here, if only to take on some of the burden of awkwardness himself. But he's not. So Eddie opens the door, face to face with Richie and a huge bowl of macaroni and cheese. "Hey."

.

"Bonjour, Eddie!" Richie says cheerily and scoots past him straight into the room. "I see ze place ‘as not changed a beet since our last _rendezvous_."

.

"Uhm, no, not really," Eddie replies, stepping back and then shutting the door. He wants to laugh at Richie's accent, but he just chews his bottom lip instead, hovering awkwardly by the entryway.

.

"Well, don't just stand there! This Mac n’ Cheese ain't gonna eat itself. That would be cannibalism. Or maybe _chees_ ibalism." Richie sits in the middle of the room, suspecting eating on Eddie's bed would be unwelcome, and gestures for Eddie to join him.

.

Eddie laughs at that, unable to help himself. "Wow, good one..." He looks at Richie for a moment longer before joining him on the floor, cross-legged on the small square carpet he and Stan invested in during move-in weekend to ‘bring the room together’.

.

"I stupidly grabbed spoons instead of forks. Apparently, I wanted to challenge us a bit in eating this." Richie hands him a spoon then starts eating, careful not to meet Eddie's eyes.

.

"Spoons are fine." Eddie makes no move to start eating, though. He isn't very hungry, and the uncertainty of this situation is making his stomach churn enough as it is. "Why, um - why did you make so much?"

.

"Thought I was hungrier than I am. I automatically put in two packets, then looked at it and thought 'How the fuck do I expect to eat all this?'" Richie takes another bite.

.

"Hah, yeah." Eddie continues to hold his spoon, not reaching for the bowl. "Look, I really should get that reading done... you can stay and eat, if you want." He knows full well he won't get anything done with Richie around to distract him, but he can't stand this awkwardness and couldn't think of anything else to say that might ease his growing anxiety.

.

Richie's eyes rise to meet Eddie's and he gives him a big smile. "Great, I'll stay then. To make sure you get a couple _chucks_ in while you're reading that boring textbook."

.

Eddie's brows knit together, anxiety spiking inexplicably at that word. "What did you just say?"

.

"That I'll stay and make sure you aren't bored?" Richie says with confusion. "Wow, no one _ever_ needs me to speak up. I usually talk too loud, not too soft."

.

"No, not _that_ \- it..." Eddie shakes his head, standing up. It was nothing. Just a stupid word, not worth making Richie explain. He’s just on edge, that’s all. "Nevermind."

.

Richie stares up at him, licking his spoon. "So, out of curiosity, did you want me to _also_ pretend like nothing happened between us last night?"

.

Eddie freezes. "W-what? I'm not..."

.

Richie stays sitting on the ground but points his spoon up at him. "I'm a big boy who can take rejection, Eddie. But I don't particularly care for beating around the fucking bush. We both said we like each other last night. We were also both drunk as shit, but I meant it,” he speaks really fast, letting his mouth take over entirely, barely registering the words coming out of it. “I'm sure I did any number of things wrong to make you want to take it back, but you're gonna need to talk to me."

.

This is exactly what Eddie was afraid of, having to face this so soon - face the reality that he lost his chance because he couldn’t give Richie what he wanted last night. He takes a step back, feeling his throat tighten. "You - you didn't do anything wrong."

.

Richie stares at him for a while longer, a little mistrustfully. Looking for the lie, trying to read Eddie's demeanor. When he decides that he is telling the truth, he says, "Well, okay." Then he picks up the bowl and takes another bite of the cheesy pasta.

.

After taking a deep, steady breath, Eddie sits down at his desk. He can hardly focus on the pile of books in front of him, so he takes one at random and opens it to the first chapter, but doesn't begin to read. He can’t even pretend to be able to focus. All he can think about is that his actions, or lack thereof, made Richie feel bad.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly and without looking up, after a minute that seems to drag on for ages. "For... rejecting you. I didn't mean it that way, I just didn't want to... I couldn't, like, do anything more, last night."

.

Richie is taken aback. He opens and closes his mouth in bewilderment. "I didn't mean last night." He stands to walk closer to Eddie, but still keeps a small distance and crosses his arms. “Last night was totally fine, I would never push anyone to do more than they’re comfortable with. I meant if you want to reject me now that we are both sober, I’d understand."

.

“Oh...” Eddie turns and looks up at Richie now, but only to gauge his expression - which is confused but earnest - before dropping his gaze again. “Why would you understand?”

.

"Because I'm me and you're you!" Richie says with frustration. He hates being serious. It's too real, too scary. Except Richie _wants_ to be open and real with Eddie. It feels right, like it's meant to be this way. "I'd understand if you were just saying you liked me in the moment. I'm weird and annoying and loud. I’d get it, okay."

.

“That’s not...” Eddie stops and purses his lips, eyes darting around the room before landing on Richie again. He stands, but doesn’t move closer just yet. “That’s not what I think. I mean... you _are_ weird and loud, but I don’t think it’s annoying. It’s just, you said you wanted to be my friend. Like... like that was all. I thought that maybe you just... changed _your_ mind, after you realized that I-” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Nevermind.”

.

Richie takes a couple steps closer until he's right in front of Eddie. A lot of puzzle pieces are gradually coming together. "I haven't changed my mind."

.

Eddie starts to move back, but his hips hit the desk before he can get very far. "You will, though." Internally, he runs through the laundry list of things that are wrong with him, some of which his mother said herself that very morning.

_(Sick. Ungrateful. Selfish. Dirty. Stupid.)_

It amazes him that Richie thinks _he_ could be the problem here, when that couldn't be further from the truth. The problem is so clearly Eddie. "I _do_ like you, that's why it's better to tell you now that I'm not worth the trouble."

.

“Consider me already in trouble then,” Richie says immediately. He can’t help but laugh a little. “If you think _you’re_ the one who’s going to cause trouble, then I need to step up my game.”

.

Eddie drops his gaze, wishing he could laugh it off like Richie. "That isn't what I meant."

.

Richie shifts awkwardly realizing joking around isn’t going to fly right now. He moves to look at the books in the school desk bookcase, though he would prefer to be pacing, as that usually diminishes some nervous energy. He stands beside Eddie as he stares at one of the books, then plucks it out, _To Kill A Mocking Bird_. “Then fill me in.”

.

As he watches Richie's movements, part of Eddie just wants to tell him to leave. There is something else, though, a pull to be open with this person he barely knows. _Barely_... yes, but as much as he keeps telling himself _barely,_ it hardly feels that way.

"Well, I..." He brings his hands in front of him and starts to fidget with them nervously. "I meant that I'm only going to disappoint you, or confuse you. I already have, and it's only been a week. I'm just going to make it worse, and you don't deserve that. You seem too nice for that. I can't be with someone nice. I’m too-"

 _Rotten,_ he finishes silently, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"My gut is telling me to trust you... but I know I shouldn't, because I can't trust my gut. Because I don't know how to take care of myself, and I've never been very smart. The whole reason I'm here, at this school, is because I don't know what's good for me. I never have, I don’t think. And it's just..." He sighs and drops his hands to his sides. "It's better that you know all that now than find out later."

.

Richie skims through a couple pages of the book, not really absorbing it. He listens to Eddie’s concerns, which make about as much sense as a cartoon character being hit by an anvil and not dying. A couple times he wants to interject, but he manages to force his mouth to stay silent.

However, as soon as Eddie finishes, he cannot hold back as his words take off like the Roadrunner, “You are plenty smart. I’m exactly what you need right now. Somebody willing to listen. You can learn to take care of yourself and have people in your life you trust. In fact, you _should_ have people around you that you think might be trustworthy. But also, can I take a second to decide if I think you’re worth it? Cause I do.”  
  
He plops the book down absently and looks down at Eddie. “And if I have to remind you until you believe me, that’s fine. Repeating myself is something I do best.”

.

Eddie looks up at Richie now, nervous yet hopeful. “You really think that? How could you possibly know...”

He looks to the book on the desk, remembering suddenly what it was that Richie said last night that triggered his asthma: ' _I doubt there is anything rotten about you.’_ But he doesn’t know. Richie doesn’t _know_. No matter how sure he seems, or how badly Eddie wants to believe him.

At last, he meets Richie’s eyes again. “Last night was... that isn’t how I am, usually. That wasn’t normal for me.”

.

“Somehow, I think it’s the opposite.” Richie holds his gaze, allowing himself to get lost in those big doe eyes. “...Maybe we were both more ourselves than we usually are.”

.

He’s right - Eddie knows he is, and that’s what makes him so nervous. That’s what makes his breath hitch. The night before was scary in more ways than one, but it all comes back to the scariest thing of all - a taste of what it might feel like to be free, and not the self destructive ‘freedom’ he’s used to grabbing onto whenever the opportunity presents itself. _Real_ freedom.

“You aren’t usually like that...?” he asks, almost in a whisper.

.

Richie just barely hears him. “I was just… er… more comfortable than I’ve been with other people. I dunno.“

.

"I was too..." Eddie moves closer, as though Richie is his center of gravity.

.

The energy Richie feels around Eddie is electrifying. He unknowingly shifts closer, so they are almost touching with their proximity. “Then let’s just keep being Eddie and Richie, and see what happens.”

.

For once, Eddie doesn’t break eye contact. "Okay," he breathes, though he can still feel that voice in the back of his head - his mother's voice - telling him that he's making a mistake, he doesn't know any better, that no one could ever possibly care for him as much as she does so it isn't worth trying.

Still, he repeats, "Okay."

.

Richie brings his hand up to pinch Eddie’s cheek. “Okay.”

.

Eddie's eyes go wide and he leans away from Richie's touch. "Please don't do that. I've asked you not to," he says firmly, but a blush blooms in his cheeks nonetheless. There's something about that gesture that feels like a memory, something that feels so different from the way his aunts pinched his cheeks when he was little, and it annoys him that he can't place it.

.

“You’re just so cute.” Richie’s hand falls from his face to Eddie’s hand, which he brushes his fingers against lightly.

Then, “Back to Mac & Cheese.” Richie plants himself on the ground, taking a huge mouth full of cold noodles.

.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but Richie is already gone, which is... confusing, to say the least. _That's it?_ All of that, and he's just... done, ready to go back to eating as though he _didn't_ just force Eddie to share anything deeply personal? Not even a kiss, either, just a cheek pinch?

"... Okay." He picks up the book Richie took out and puts it back in its spot, then sits at his desk again. "Back to homework, then."

.

Richie is content to eat and not disrupt Eddie’s concentration for ten minutes. He knows it’s exactly ten minutes because he keeps checking his phone every minute habitually. However, Richie’s not blessed with the ability to remain quiet for long. He needs there to be talking, usually done by him, or music playing. Anything to fill the bleak and unsettling void silence represents. He decides to distract himself by staring at the back of Eddie’s head for a bit, remembering how his hands felt in that hair yesterday. How he got just a taste of exploring Eddie’s skin, kissing it, biting it… his eyes trail to the spot he had given special attention to last night. He can’t see it from this angle, but he smiles knowing there is probably a mark.

.

As much as he tries, Eddie can barely focus with the sound of Richie eating just behind him. Eventually the noise stops, but then focusing becomes even more difficult, as he can now feel Richie’s eyes on him. He tries to read for another minute or so before giving up and looking back at Richie. “Yes?”

.

At last, Richie spots the hickey peeking out from his shirt collar. His smile broadens at his handiwork and he looks at Eddie thoughtfully. "Just enjoying the view."

.

Eddie quickly turns back around to hide his blush. “Well it’s hard to focus when you’re staring at me,” he says, before tugging his collar up a bit in an attempt to cover the spot he _suspects_ caught Richie’s attention.

.

Richie gets up, taking the mac and cheese with him. He places the bowl on the desk next to Eddie. "You really should eat some, as I am an excellent chef. It's even good cold!" Then he goes over to Eddie's bed and plops down on his stomach. The desk is directly beside the front of Eddie's bed, so now Richie is able to stare at the side of Eddie's face, but first he chooses to go on Snapchat to send a couple selfies to Bill.

.

“You said this was made from box packets; I’m not sure that counts as being a _chef_ ,” Eddie says as he uncaps a highlighter. He glances over at the bowl and immediately feels queasy, so he quickly goes back to the textbook in front of him. “And anyway I’m not very hungry. I ate earlier.”

.

Richie peeks up from his phone at Eddie, wondering how much truth is in that statement, but lets it slide. "Psh, whoever heard of not being hungry?" He kicks off his shoes, remembering they are still on, and situates himself on the bed. He feels weirdly at peace in Eddie's space, as if it is home to him. The scent, the cleanliness, and the calming atmosphere makes him wonder if he knew Eddie before this week. But there is no way. He would remember.

.

"Well I'm not," Eddie says, his tone bordering on irritated but not quite there. He feels guilty about the stark contrast between his attitude today and the way he was last night. But he was drunk, then. Drunk and... something else that made him act so abnormally… no, so _openly_.

He sighs. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day." It's barely one o'clock, but it's true. "I think I'm more hungover than I thought." Not so true, but believable enough.

.

"It's your loss, not mine." Richie shrugs. "Did you take a Tylenol? And have you been drinking water?"

.

"Yeah, obviously. I don't need to be told to take Tylenol, thanks," Eddie adds, bristling, mind immediately going back to his conversation with his mother. _'Did you take something? You know how your headaches get.'_

He shoots Richie a glare. "I can take care of myself." _'Oh sweetie, you know you can't do that.’_  
  
"I'm not a _baby_ , this isn't my first hangover." _'Oh sweetie...'_ "I can take care of myself," he repeats, more to himself than to Richie, and opens the top drawer of his desk. He moves pill bottles around until he finds the Xanax, and _God_ , he should've taken one right after he got off the phone with his mom. Things would be so much different now if he had. He likes himself better when he’s taken something. He doesn’t think so much.

.

“ _Yowza_ , no need to get your undies in a twist. You‘re a big strong man who can take care of himself, understood.” Richie gets into a sitting position with his legs criss-crossed. “I, on the other hand, am a small child who is terrible at taking care of himself. Do you have any water bottles?”

.

"Don't patronize me. And you're not a child _,_ " Eddie says, exasperated. "There are waters in the mini fridge." He waits until Richie's attention is on that before swiftly taking one of his pills and closing the drawer back up. He takes a sip of the water on his desk, immediately feeling a sense of relief. He knows it's too soon for the Xanax to actually _do_ anything - it's only been a few seconds, after all - but just knowing that it _will_ is enough, sometimes.

.

Richie smiles at getting Eddie riled up as he grabs a water from the fridge. He hears a drawer close, wondering what Eddie took out, but when he turns around he doesn’t see anything new on the desk. Curious.

“Pretty sure my mother would disagree with you about me not being a child.” He makes his way back to the bed. “She constantly tells people that I’m a kid trapped in a giant body. She just doesn’t get my humor, can’t blame her for that.” Richie begins to down half the bottle.

.

"Sounds awful," Eddie says quietly, pulling his feet up onto his chair.

.

Richie thinks his mother is right though. The more she didn’t understand him growing up, the worse he acted out against her. “Eh, no biggie. Maggie Tozier is a simple lady with simple needs who found herself stuck with the opposite of simple. Kept her life interesting.”

.

"Hmm, 'keeping lives interesting' seems to be a common thread in your life,” Eddie observes. “At least, according to you."

.

Richie eyes him with a grin. “Better than the alternative of keeping someone’s life boring.”

.

Eddie lets out a short breath of laughter and rolls his eyes, having relaxed a tiny bit. "Right, of course. Either way you're implying you have a whole lot of control over people's lives. Your confidence knows no bounds, does it?"

.

“Key confidence is, young padawan,” Richie says, a slow high pitched Yoda Voice coming out. “Need to control people I do not. Hmmm. Care of themselves they can take. Hmmmm.”

.

Eddie chuckles. "Hey, that one was pretty good!"

.

“Thanks.” Richie finishes off the rest of the water bottle and aims for the trashcan by the front door. He throws it, already knowing he will probably miss. Right on cue, the bottle hits the wall and flies wildly to the middle of the room.

.

Wordlessly, Eddie stands, retrieves the empty bottle, and drops it into the trash before turning back to Richie. Suddenly he feels guilty for taking the Xanax. Last night he decided while he was _drunk_ not to expose Richie to this habit, yet here he is.

"Uh listen, I'm probably going to take a nap soon... been a long day," he says again, moving to sit down on his bed. "Sorry about the macaroni and cheese."

.

Richie pats Eddie’s leg. “No problemo, chico. Am I wearing you out already?”

.

Eddie looks down at Richie’s hand and has to fight both the urge to shift away from him _and_ the urge to shift closer. Instead of doing either, he grips the edge of the mattress tightly. “No. Just tired.”

.

"Cool cool." Richie retracts his hand to put his shoes back on and then stands up a little too quickly. The blood rushes to his head, but he ignores it. A smoke would be great right about now. Richie grabs the bowl from the desk, then heads to the door but stops, turning back, not able to prevent himself from asking,  "You… er… sure you're okay?"

.

“Yep, totally,” Eddie says, drawing the words out while bringing his hand up in a mock army salute. He’s grateful that the smell of the food is further away, but he _almost_ wants to ask Richie to stay. That would be a bad idea though, because everything about the last twelve or so hours is making it impossible to be around him now, especially after the phone call. He just needs to get her _voice_ to go away, and the thoughts that come with it, that’s all. But that’s what the pill will do, as always. “I’ll be totally fine.”

.

It doesn't _seem_ as though Eddie is kicking him out, he had multiple opportunities to have done that sooner, but every part of Richie wishes he could stay, if only to hold Eddie the way he did last night. He looks like he could use a hug.

Before Richie can change his mind - not that he is one to change his mind very often - he walks over, hugs Eddie with one arm, and says, "Well, sweet dreams sleeping cutie." Then he blows an exaggerated, flamboyant kiss with his hand and walks out of the room.

.

Eddie smiles and watches Richie go. When the door closes, he lies down almost immediately, not bothering to even pull back the covers. The spare blanket he woke up with that morning is still on his bed, so he pulls that over himself instead. It occurs to him, in that moment, that he never actually picked it up last night - that must have been Richie's doing. _Fuck,_ he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
The Xanax is starting to kick in; he can feel his breathing even out, his whole body relaxing into a slightly drowsy state. This is how he's spent the better part of the last three years, especially when trying to escape his mother. Passive. _Sedated_. If it isn’t Xanax it’s Valium or Ambien. It feels good when her voice leaves the back of his mind, but it's not like he can think any clearer this way. His mind is still a muddled mess of foggy memories, of thoughts and ideas that come to him in waves but are barely intelligible, like he's hearing them while submerged in water. The only difference is that he can't hear _her_ anymore, and that makes him feel _better_ . Not okay, necessarily, but better. That’s what medicine is _for_ \- to make people feel better, right?  
  
He wishes he’d asked Richie to stay. He wasn't wrong, after all - last night _was_ the most clear headed Eddie has felt in a long time, and he knows his own insecurities are the only things to blame for how different he feels now. Sighing, he pulls up the messaging app on his phone, types in _'you should come back, without the mac n cheese though,'_ and then hovers his thumb over the 'send' button for a moment. But... no, sending it is a bad idea. He can't let Richie be around him like this - he's already subjected him to too much uncertainty today. If he comes back now, if he knows what Eddie’s _normally_ like, it'll all be over for sure, before it ever gets a chance to begin.

So, he locks his phone, drops it onto the desk behind him, and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow us/chat with the Losers on Tumblr! [losersincollege](https://losersincollege.tumblr.com)
> 
> Authors on this chapter:  
> Eddie - [ao3: confunded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/confunded); [tumblr: eddiefuckingkaspbrak](https://eddiefuckingkaspbrak.tumblr.com)  
> Richie - [ao3: thetheatregal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetheatregal); [tumblr: richiefuckfacetozier](https://richiefuckfacetozier.tumblr.com)  
> 


	3. Stan and Eddie Netflix and Destress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both securely under the influence of separate anxiety medications, Stan and Eddie finally make their first real attempt at bonding with each other. Sweet Dee has a heart attack, the boys discover The Fab Five, and also lay some necessary ground rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is our new Stan's official debut! We stan him.

**Sunday, 09/02, early evening; York Hall, Room 204**

After Richie goes back to his own room, Eddie quickly drifts off into a heavy, medicated nap. It’s the kind of nap that is too deep for dreams or interruptions, which is the best kind of nap. When he comes to, he has to put real, physical effort into opening his eyes and pulling himself back into consciousness. He blinks the sleep away and immediately feels disoriented, as is typical for a midday nap that goes on for a bit too long. 

He looks around and spots Stan, who he hasn't seen all day, in the other bed, bundled up in a hoodie and focused on his laptop screen. Thinking wildly that Stan is literally  _ ready for bed _ , he sits up and asks, too loudly, "Shit, what time is it?!"   


.   


Stan had been zoned out for a while in his Ativan haze, staring blankly at episodes of  _ Always Sunny _ that he'd already seen. It’s a familiar post-attack scene, for him, curled up in his hoodie and lazing around.   
  
As Eddie speaks, or shrieks - _ How does he hit that register with his mouth? _ \- Stan flinches, yanking out his headphones. "What?" It takes him a minute to figure out what Eddie had asked him, glancing at his watch.    
  
"Quarter past four, give or take a minute or two. You've been asleep since I got back."   


.   


Eddie looks at Stan in horror. "In the morning?!" He turns and grabs his phone, relieved when he checks the time and sees  _ p.m. _ . 

"Jesus..." He falls back, letting his head hit the pillow again, then rolls to face Stan. "I didn't even hear you come back. What've you been doing all day?"   


.   


"You were pretty dead to the world. I managed to bang my knee against the bed and you didn't so much as move." Belatedly, Stan pauses the show, untucking knees from underneath his hoodie and stretching his legs out.   
  
"I've been watching Hulu. Taking it easy."  _ Avoiding my problems.  _ "Are you feeling okay? If you get sick, I don't want you around me. I can't afford to miss class."   


.   


"I'm not  _ sick _ ," Eddie retorts, thinking of his earlier conversation with his mother. "It's just been a weird day, and I felt hungover earlier. I needed a nap." He opens his phone and sees he has multiple texts, but doesn't look at them. "What're you watching?"   


.   


"The only time I ever sleep in the afternoon is if I'm sick." _ Eddie would know all about being sick, wouldn't he?  _ The thought gives Stan pause, a slight furrow to his brow as if to chastise himself for jumping to conclusions about people he hardly knows.    
  
"Oh, it's ah-" Turning his computer so the screen faces the other, Stan runs two fingers over the trackpad to make sure the screen isn't asleep. "Always Sunny."   
  
It's his go-to show for destressing, but there's no reason to divulge more than Eddie cares to know.   


.   


"Oh, that sounds nice," Eddie says, reacting to the positive-sounding title alone. He yawns. "Never seen it, is it good? Wait, that's dumb - I'm sure  _ you _ think it's good, if you're watching it." He laughs apologetically.   


.   


"You've really never seen it?" Colour Stan surprised. He shakes his head in disbelief. "It's really good, yeah. What kind of shows do you normally watch, then?"   


.   


"Uhh... I dunno. I have to be really careful about what I watch, because I use all my mom's accounts for stuff like Netflix and Hulu." Eddie sits up a little, propping his head up with his hand. "So I mostly end up watching documentaries... or like, cooking shows."   


.   


“You can use mine, then. If you want, that is. I can give you the password.” The offer falls out of Stan’s mouth before he can think about it too hard. “Do you want to watch some with me?”   


.   


“Really?” Eddie asks, unable to keep the hopeful surprise out of his voice. He’s been so  _ sure  _ Stan doesn’t like him much, though they’ve had their moments. At least, when they thoroughly disinfected their dorm room before classes started, it  _ felt _ like a moment. “That’d be awesome! I can finally watch Queer Eye! And... basically everything else people talk about all the time.”    
  
Grinning, he gets up and crosses the room to sit on Stan’s bed to watch the show together, an action that doesn’t strike him as overly-comfortable until after he’s already there. It’s not like they’ve known each other for years, so why did he think he could just invade Stan’s personal space like that?  _ Sorry, Xanax makes me stupid, _ Eddie almost says, but instead he only looks at Stan sheepishly, half expecting him to rescind the offer right on the spot.   


.   


Eddie looks so genuine that it hurts Stan's heart, making it feel heavy and swollen in his chest. He'd never really considered himself the protective type - having never had a friend close enough to  _ want _ to protect - but the urge to keep Eddie from having to face the demons that Stan does rises up quickly, making him quiet for a long moment, looking a bit stricken at the gravity of his thoughts.   
  
His brain is too numbed by his own medication to put up much of a protest to Eddie making himself at home in Stan's bed, in his  _ space _ . Surely, later he'll do laundry as stealthily as he can, not wanting to offend Eddie but needing his sheets to be  _ clean _ , but for now it's alright.   
  
"Do you want to borrow a pillow to lean against the wall? It's not super comfortable for long periods of time," he offers, after a stupidly pregnant silence, lost in his own mind.   
  
Adjusting his position, Stan forgoes tucking legs back up under hoodie in favour of balancing his laptop on his knees, making himself comfortable. "Remind me later to write down the Hulu password for you."   


.   


“Oh - duh. Sorry, I should’ve just brought mine with me.” Still in that overly relaxed haze, Eddie laughs tiredly and gets up again to grab his own pillow from his bed. Once he’s back with Stan, he props it up behind him and tries to get comfortable while still leaving a reasonable buffer of space between them. “So, what’s this show about? It sounds happy.”   


.   


"It's like," Stan pauses, has to consider his words, "the misadventures of this group of friends. They own a pub in Philadelphia."   
  
_ Misadventures _ doesn't even begin to cover some of the things that go on in this show, but why spoil the surprise? Stan clicks through some of the episodes, trying to find one he can start Eddie out on.

.

“Okay, I like the sound of that,” Eddie says with a shrug. He folds his arms over his knees and rests his chin on top, watching Stan look for an episode in the middle of the series. “I won’t be confused if I don’t start from the beginning?”   


.

"I think you could probably figure it out. They're... it's not one of those shows." Stan settles, finally, on ‘Sweet Dee Has a Heart Attack’. "I'll explain who everyone is if you can't figure it out."   


.   


The episode starts, and immediately Danny DeVito is coughing around a bong, so Eddie knows that whatever he was expecting this to be, is _ definitely not  _ what it’s going to be. Then, not even a minute into the episode, one of the characters (‘Sweet Dee’, as the title informs him) has a heart attack. 

“Wait wait wait, why don’t any of them care? She just  _ collapsed _ and they all ignored it!”

.

"That's part of like, their  _ thing _ , Eddie." Stan doesn't sound the slightest bit exasperated, too wrapped up in this new idea that Eddie might be just the _ slightest _ bit naïve. "They're always awful to each other. Y'know, friendship."   


.

“That’s.... not how friendship works,” Eddie responds quietly, and then stops his commentary for a good few minutes to try to piece together the characters’ relationships. Turns out, a few of them are related, which makes it a little easier for him to understand why they’re all so terrible, but it’s still pretty baffling.    
  
Soon enough, Danny DeVito’s character is dumping out a grocery bag of prescription medicine and proclaiming that he’s going to take them all at once to get healthy faster. Eddie laughs at this, but he can’t begin to explain to Stan why it’s so funny. _ It’s funny because only a few feet away I have my own drawer full of brand name sedatives so I relate to this disgusting character!  _ Well,  _ that _ surely wouldn’t go over well, so he keeps the thought to himself.   


.

Stan's not really one for commentary during movies or shows, so he keeps quiet, allowing Eddie to take in the show for the first time. He keeps half an eye on the other, however, just to make sure he is actually enjoying it at least  _ somewhat _ .   


.

Eddie finds himself laughing a bit here and there, but he remains terribly confused as the episode goes on. Eventually, during a moment in which two of the characters are preparing to give each other Botox, he turns to Stan and asks, “So is the whole show about how mean and selfish they are?”   


.

"....Yeah? That's the appeal. Many shows gloss over the true human nature." Stan moves the laptop from his lap, adjusting and sitting up, unused muscles aching in protest.    
  
"Human nature is to be terrible to each other, right? Humans are the species that will torture and kill their own kind for sport. And yet you have like,  _ hundreds _ , if not _ thousands _ of shows that skim over that part of human nature entirely, unless it's to... to  _ demonize _ , or make a point that  _ bad means bad _ ."   
  
Perhaps he's getting a little to into it, eyes lit up with fascination.   


.

Eddie looks at Stan fully now, abandoning the show for the much more pressing matter at hand, which is Stan’s pessimism.

“What?? No -  _ Stan!  _ People aren’t  _ born _ terrible - they’re just...” He pauses, searching for the right words. “If there is badness inside someone, there has to be an explanation for it... like, things in their environment, y’know? I bet even in this show,” he gestures to the laptop, “there are reasons  _ why _ they are they way they are. People who hurt other people do it because they don’t know any other way.”    
  
He looks at Stan earnestly, almost with a hint of pity, wondering why he has such a dreary worldview. “Everyone has goodness inside them somewhere... or they did, at one point, and then they lost it... but they can still learn to be better, if they want to… Most people, anyway.”

.

Stan’s knee starts to bounce as Eddie keeps talking, silent and allowing him to express his opinion. It's... weirdly endearing? Almost?   
  
He smiles, tips his head to the side, before conceding, "I guess I never thought about it that way."   
  
_ Don't fight with your roommate. You have too many days left to start fighting with your roommate now. _   
  
"Can we agree to disagree?" There's something familiar, something safe in agreeing to disagree, but Stan put his finger on what, exactly.

.

Eddie wants  _ nothing  _ more than to do the exact opposite of that, to just continue to shove his optimism down Stan’s throat until he’s forced to agree, but somehow he knows that would be futile. He also feels like he’s had this argument before. Maybe Stan has too, and that’s why he’s ending it now.   
  
Still, he pouts stubbornly before leaning back on his pillow and turning his attention back to the laptop screen. “Yeah... I guess there are always outliers,” he say finally, thinking maybe a compromise is what Stan wants. There’s a creeping feeling inside him that he  _ himself _ is an outlier - that he’s one of the  _ bad ones _ \- and he tries to push that feeling down. 

“I just don’t like the idea that we can’t become better and should just... live with it. It makes me sad.”

.

It's a good thing Stan's still pretty numb, unable to overthink this conversation. He can't help but feel a sense of deja vu creep over him. Too many optimists in the world, probably.   
  
"We can watch something else, if you want," he offers, doesn't even think twice about how he hates to leave episodes unfinished. "Something a little happier?"

.

Eddie bites his lip, not wanting to inconvenience Stan, especially since he’s the one invading Stan’s space and taking up his time. But he _ did  _ offer... and Eddie very rarely had the opportunity to make choices growing up, so even something as innocuous as picking a TV show still feels new and exciting. “Well... I did mention Queer Eye before...”   
  
He looks at Stan with hopeful uncertainty, because based on everything he’s heard about it,  _ Queer Eye  _ seems like it probably won’t be the kind of show Stan likes. “I mean... just one episode. Maybe? Or not.”

.

Stan knows what  _ Queer Eye _ is about, at least topically. That's definitely a start.   
  
"Yeah, that's fine. You set it up." Trusting someone with his computer? With  _ his  _ computer? He takes a moment to listen intently, to see if there's a yeerk in his head, planting foreign thoughts, a body snatcher waiting to turn him into dust and assume his identity for the next five years until inevitably -   
  
"I'm gonna go get a bottle of water from the vending machine." He pulls himself from his own brain long enough to spit that out, standing and pushing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Do you want anything?"

.

Eddie excitedly takes the laptop into his own lap and exits out of  _ Always Sunny _ . He goes to the main page on Netflix and starts searching for  _ Queer Eye _ , then looks up at Stan. “Oh, no thanks! I’m-” he pauses, noticing for the first time the words Derry High School emblazoned on the front of Stan’s hoodie. “Wait, you’re from Derry?”

.

"Wow, Eddie, you didn't warn me you were a private detective in your free time." Stan raises his eyebrows, edges of his mouth quirking up into a smirk.    
  
"I lived in Derry my whole life. On their baseball team and everything. Hence, y'know," he gestures down at the hoodie, "Derry High School Baseball."

.

“Hah... yeah, sorry. Go get your water, I’ll wait to start the first episode,” Eddie says, flushing a bit at Stan’s sarcasm. He definitely,  _ definitely _ isn’t going to drop the subject though... he’ll pry some more when Stan returns.

.

Admittedly, the water thing was A Big Fat Lie. Stan's used to telling those, so it doesn't sting as much. He makes his way into the hallway, waiting until the door latches behind him to let out a heavy breath, running hands through hair and kicking the wall next to their room.   
  
Could he stop being weird for  _ five whole seconds _ , perhaps? Just make some  _ friends _ for once in his life?   
  
_ Who rants about people being inherently evil to sunshine incarnate? _   
  
He can't go back into the room with empty hands - way too suspicious, and Eddie would definitely notice - so he makes his way down the hall to the vending machines, mussing up his hair once more as he all but jams his watch -  _ G-d Bless Apple Pay _ \- against the card reader, willing a bottle of water to appear.

.

Meanwhile, Eddie is sitting on Stan's bed trying to remember if he'd ever seen him before last week. If he'd gone to Derry High, they surely would've - 

_ No _ , Eddie reminds himself. _ It's a pretty big school. _ If someone showed him a yearbook of the class he would have graduated with had he stayed, he would only recognize maybe half the faces and even fewer names. _ But, _ he thinks as a surge of anxious feelings run through him.  _ Stan played baseball... _ __  
  
Eddie used to love watching baseball games. Even as a kid, he'd sit on the sidelines and watch. His mom would have had a conniption if he ever played, because of all the things that could go wrong, but he didn't mind just watching. A lot of the boys in town were - 

Well, it doesn't really matter.    
  
This is just another case of people being unable to migrate far from where they grew up, he decides. Maybe they'd talk about Derry for a minute or two, like everyone else has, but then they'd forget about it and go back to watching Netflix. Nothing to feel nervous about.

.

Something to occupy his hands is nice, keeps Stan from starting to cycle through nervous tic after nervous tic as he makes his way back to the dorm room.   
  
He stands in the hallway outside the room for a long moment, looking up at the ceiling and willing himself for  _ once _ to get his act together long enough to make a friend.   
  
After he's called G-d out for making him awkward, he enters the dorm room once again, pulling the tab on the water and trying to act casual. "Did you figure out how it works?"

.

Eddie laughs. "I know how Netflix  _ works _ , I said I just had to be careful with what I watched. Here-" He waits until Stan is sitting down again to give the computer back, the first episode of Queer Eye paused and ready to go.

.

"Are you _ sure? _ I can just see it now, Eddie... Ah-" Stan pauses, making a gesture with his hands indicating Eddie should supply his last name.

.

"... Kaspbrak," Eddie finishes flatly, raising his eyebrows. He'd figured Stan would at least  _ know his name _ by now. "Didn't you read the welcoming package stuff? My name would've been in there."

.

"Kaspbrak," Stan repeats, and then once more, to himself, "Kaspbrak."   
  
He  _ had _ read the packet they'd given to him, sure, but mostly for the rules it entailed, and the schedule he'd gotten. His roommate had been one of the last things on the mental list of Things Stan Cared About.   
  
But Kaspbrak sounded so  _ damn _ familiar. Surely, he must have read the information, then? At least once.   
  
Abruptly, Stan closes the door in his mind that houses that particular thought - how he knows Eddie's name from  _ before _ when there was no  _ before  _ \- before it can take over.  _ Anyway... _ __  
  
"Eddie Kaspbrak, with fingers like a newborn baby deer, typing his first words onto the internet." He mimes a hunt and peck typing motion. "Please give me those fashionable queer men, Netflix gods."

.

"Deer don’t  _ have _ fingers, so joke’s on you, Stan,” Eddie says, smiling triumphantly as he presses play.

.

"Wow, Eddie, you got me there. I would never have known that deer don't _ actually _ have fingers." Stan reclaims his earlier seat, stretching in a vain attempt to crack his back.    
  
"I've never seen this show. Just warning you now," he says as he's laying on his side, cheek propped on one elbow, legs dangling off the side of the bed. "So I won't be able to answer your most burning questions."

.

“Well... we’ll figure it out together then,” Eddie replies simply. He glances at Stan as the show gets started, and his eyes keep migrating to the front of his hoodie. After a couple minutes of this, he can’t take it any longer. “You know, I lived in Derry too, until I moved to New York.”

.

Stan pauses. Blinks. Looks over to Eddie. "No shit?"  
  
_Kaspbrak._ Stan can hear her - an awful, wretched woman, though her details are blurry - in his head for a moment. ‘ _Eeeeeeddiee, daaaarling, come take your medications!’_   
  
He shudders without thinking too hard about it.  
  
"When did you move to New York?"

.

“Uhmm... three years ago? The summer before senior year, so I didn’t graduate from there or anything.” Eddie laughs and gives a small shrug. “Weird how fast school memories fade. We could’ve had classes together, maybe, but everyone I wasn’t friends with might as well have no face when I try to picture my classes. Or the sports teams.”

.

"Maybe we did." Stan's sure of it, now. Eddie Kaspbrak, in Derry, Maine, with Stanley Uris. The memory is so clear for a moment that Stan almost feels as though he can reach out, can grab the younger Eddie by the shoulders, shake him, and tell him to ‘ _ wake up, damn it!’ _   
  
But it's gone, as quickly as it came.   
  
"Who knows. Glitch in the matrix, probably."

.

"Yeah, I guess." Eddie only vaguely gets this reference, but he's not about to admit that. He'll look it up later, along with the deer fingers thing, which he now suspects was  _ also _ a reference. 

It's easy for him to just accept that they hardly spoke and therefore wouldn't be expected to remember each other, just as he has accepted the same thing for every _ other _ Derry person he's met here. Derry people go to a Derry-adjacent university... isn't that how it works?   _ Most _ people remain townies, in the grand scheme of things. Even him, he supposes, since he too came back to Maine. 

It's comfortable, after all, being where you've always been.   
  
They watch the show for a few minutes before Eddie's mind starts to wander back to the previous night, to Richie, and everything that happened between them. He feels guilty, again, for the way he acted earlier that afternoon, and wonders if he blew it already. To take his mind off of this uncomfortable possibility, he decides to focus instead on Stan's night. "Hey, what'd you end up doing last night? You weren't here when we came back to the room."

.

Stan's sure he's meant to have some sort of polite response to the small talk that Eddie is obviously trying to initiate.    
  
Really, he's sure of it.   
  
Instead, his brain gets stuck on one particular word.   
  
_ "We?" _

.

"Oh." Eddie immediately realizes his fatal error here, but he can't turn back now. He's a terrible liar, and Stan is scary in his own way, so he has no choice but to confess. "Um. Just... this guy I've been talking to... he's in a couple of my classes. And we um, met up last night at that party."

.

"....You brought a boy back to our dorm room." Stan's voice is flat, as though he doesn't believe what he's hearing. Nothing wrong with Eddie and  _ boys _ , more with Eddie and boys _ in his room _ . "To our dorm room, where I live."   
  
Immediately, his skin begins to crawl. That strange boy was _ in his space _ , in his  _ haven _ from the world. He rises, shakes his hands out, looks around. "Did he...  _ touch _ anything? Did you guys-"   
  
He doesn't want to know. He  _ doesn't  _ want to know.   
  
"Tell me he didn't touch anything on my side of the room."

.

"Whoa, Stan-" Eddie moves the laptop to the side and sits up straighter, concerned. He doesn't like the way Stan is starting to freak out, because if Stan freaks out, it's going to freak him out too, and he doesn't need more of that today. Out of nowhere, he has a strong urge to grab his inhaler and just… shove it into Stan’s mouth to calm down, which is an  _ insane _ thought. 

Insane, but familiar.   
  
He shakes his head. "No, we were just in my bed. We didn't even _ do _ anything, he was just here... and we talked, it was nice. He was nice! He didn't touch your things, and he went back to his own room after I fell asleep. Don't worry!"

.

The promises help to reassure him, to quiet the growing static of Stan’s brain. They're far from the cure-all, however.    
  
Stan's skin itches, dirt under the surface, and he scratches at already dry arms. "Okay," he says, voice soft.   
  
"I don't- I don't care if you have people here. I just... I want to know about it? A heads up?  _ Please. _ " For the sake of what little sanity he has left.

.

Eddie averts his eyes as he feels another rush of guilt run through him. He realizes that he crossed a boundary by bringing Richie over, and hates that he didn’t think of that in his drunken state. This feeling joins his previous guilt over acting cold toward Richie earlier,  _ as well as _ his guilt over disappointing his mother that morning.  _ You’re really on a roll today, Kaspbrak, _ he thinks to himself solemnly.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he says, still looking at the floor. “I should’ve texted you, I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking about anything last night, other than him.”

.

Stan takes a breath. Holds it.  _ 1, 2, 3. Exhale. 1, 2, 3. Inhale. _   
  
"Does he at least make you happy? Like, this is a  _ good _ boy that you've brought into my dorm room, where I _ live _ , right?"   
  
G-d help him, he's trying. Getting angry won't solve anything.

.

This response causes Eddie to look back up, meeting Stan’s eyes as his expression changes from confused to embarrassed. “He... I think he could, yeah.”  _ If I let him. _ “He’s nice. He-” 

Eddie doesn’t know how to explain it, can’t begin to explain it. Stan barely knows him, he couldn’t possibly understand...   
  
“I think he’s different from guys I’ve dated before. When I’m with him I feel like I’m-“  _ Home.  _ He flushes pink, just waiting for Stan to laugh at him. “Well, anyway, I think he’s good. And he didn’t go on your side of the room.”

.

_ Just talk about this boy until he stops seeming like such a menace. Surely that will work, right? _ __  
  
Stan nods, arms fidgeting a moment, needing something to do. He moves to his desk, straightening the already neat things on it.   
  
"Sounds like a winner to me," he decides, figuring that someone who makes Eddie blush like that just by  __ thinking about them must be someone worth keeping around. "I'm happy if you're happy. Just warn me before you bring him over next time. I'm not the best with surprises."

.

“Yeah, of course. Sorry,” Eddie repeats. He chews the inside of his cheek before continuing. “Richie lived in Derry too, actually. The guy, I mean - his name’s Richie. I don’t remember ever seeing him around either, but I wish I had... maybe a lot of things would have happened differently.”    
  
_ ‘It would have been that way, in a book, or a movie,’ _ he thinks, feeling a strange sense of mourning over what might have been, if only fate were a little kinder. 

“Did you know a guy named Richie Tozier at all? He doesn’t seem like much of a sports guy... but who knows, maybe you can tell me something more about him.”

.

"Richie?" Stan thinks on it a moment. "Richie -”   
  
‘-  _ Tozier Gets Off A Good One, for once in his life!’ _   
  
"It sounds familiar," he says, throat dry. Where'd that damn bottle of water get off to? "I'd have to see his face to tell you for sure."   
  
He's  _ praying _ , actually  _ praying _ that the Richie Eddie's talking about isn't the other Richie he knows. Well, ‘ _ knows’ _ in that sort of... ‘acquaintance you'd like to strangle someday just to make them stop interrupting your class’ way.

.

Eddie grins, an excited nervousness growing in his chest. “Yeah! You totally have to meet him! You can give him your stamp of approval, too.” There’s a small part of him that is worried Stan would hate Richie, since they’re so very different, but a stronger force is telling him it will be just fine. “I trust your judgment.”

.

" _ I _ don't even trust my judgement, Eddie." Stan can feel a migraine building, pressure forming behind his eyes. "Just don't let me meet him when you bring him back to our room in the middle of the night, huh?" He manages half a smile, a watered down version.

.

“Hah, yeah, that won’t happen. He just didn’t want me to go to his room because it was a mess,” Eddie replies, failing to realize this might be the wrong way to get Stan to like Richie, since he himself found that information strangely endearing.

.

Stan's nose wrinkles, a clear distaste on his face. "At least he's got a modicum of common sense?"   
  
_ Don't express your distaste for your roommate's boyfriend, Stanley. _   
  
"Just let me know where and when, then. I'll pencil you guys into my overflowing social calendar."

.

Eddie laughs - Stan’s humor is sometimes confusing, but in this case he gets the sarcasm. “Okay, I’ll let you know.”  _ If he still likes me, anyway. _

He looks down at Stan’s laptop and realizes the episode is at least fifteen minutes in and they hardly watched any of it. “We should probably start this over, huh.”

.

“Yeah, yeah. We can.” Stan sits back on the bed, curling back into his hoodie once more. “We’ve missed the beginning part where the guy talks about how tragic and straight he is.”

.

“Well obviously we  _ need _ to go back then,” Eddie says, moving the laptop cursor to click on an earlier part of the video. “I need to know this guy enough to root for him.”

.

"You need his character backstory?" Stan seems amused. "Let me guess, you're a sucker for the sob stories on like, America's Got Talent and shit, huh?"

.

Eddie shrugs. "I just like knowing about people. He needs their help for a reason, right? I bet he's nice."

.

Stan makes a pained sound as the optimism washes over him, laying back on the bed. "I'm sure he's great."

.

Eddie turns the laptop a bit so that Stan can see it from his position, and they watch the episode in comfortable silence. Sure enough, the guy, Tom, is great. He's adorable and pleasant, and the 'Fab Five' help him get back together with his ex-wife. The show has an emotionally fulfilling ending, and Eddie is very much hooked, with  _ every _ intention of getting Stan's password and watching the entire series.   
  
But not tonight. By the end of the episode, Eddie can see that Stan is half asleep, so he thanks him for watching the show with him and moves to his own side of the room. He feels better now, both because of the enthusiastic positivity of  _ Queer Eye _ , and the familiar comfort of just sitting quietly with Stan. His mother's voice is more distant in his head, at least, and that means something.    
  
It's barely after six at this point, so Eddie forces Stan to go to the dining hall with him, which he does, albeit somewhat reluctantly. As they eat, Eddie feels grateful to have him there, as though they have an unspoken understanding of each other now. Eddie can't explain  _ why _ it's there, but he knows it is, and something tells him Stan does, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow us/chat with the Losers on Tumblr! [losersincollege](https://losersincollege.tumblr.com)
> 
> Authors on this chapter:  
> Eddie - [ao3: confunded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/confunded); [tumblr: eddiefuckingkaspbrak](https://eddiefuckingkaspbrak.tumblr.com)  
> Stan - [ao3: sugardeady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugardeady); [tumblr: stonyclearingdwelleruris](https://stonyclearingdwelleruris.tumblr.com)  
> 


	4. In Which Mike is Tired, and Eddie is... A Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Eddie finally meet, by chance, while getting early morning coffees. They bond a little over their history of extracurriculars, but things quickly take a turn when Eddie starts talking about Derry conspiracy theories.

**Monday, 09/03, early morning; York Hall common area**

Mike wakes up early on Monday morning, around 7:30, with the same anxiety he had before he went to bed. It's Labor Day weekend, his first weekend away from home, and he'd decided to stay on campus instead of running back after his very first _week_ , but he can't help but feel homesick already. And worried...

He mentally scolds himself, and decides to just get out of bed and stop thinking about it so much. So by 8:20 he's up, showered, dressed, and headed downstairs to get a coffee or something, since Ben's still out cold.  
  
The common area isn't crowded; it's pretty early and nobody has classes today, so he walks into the kitchen and gets started on that coffee in peace.

.

Eddie, on the other hand, has _no_ desire to go home for the holiday, and he wouldn't be able to even if he wanted to because of the distance. But like Mike, Eddie wants coffee, so he too is up early and heading to the common area, coffee mug in hand. He had assumed that everyone else in the universe would still be asleep, so he's surprised to find someone else in the room when he enters.

For a split second he considers coming back a little later, but he ends up walking over to the guy, who is standing by the coffee brewer, and placing his mug on the counter. "Um, hi, do you happen to be making enough for two?"

.

Mike's also surprised when another person shows up, and a little annoyed that his peace was disturbed, but it's only because he's homesick ( _this wouldn't have happened at home_ ). He smiles anyway.

"Uhm..." He looks down at the coffee maker, honestly not sure if he's making enough for two, but if not, he can just give his to this guy and make some more. "Yeah, sure." He shakes his head. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be up this early."

.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I wasn’t expecting to be up this early either. My roommate is very methodical, so he has a routine going and I just sort of follow along.” Eddie smiles. The guy looks familiar, but he’s probably just seen him around the halls. “Sorry - I’m Eddie.”

.

"Your roommate sounds fun," Mike responds, deadpan but with a smile, to show he's not trying to be mean. "I'm Mike."

He glances over at Eddie, thinking that he looks weirdly familiar, yet he doesn't recall ever seeing him around. When the coffee's done, he picks up Eddie’s mug to pour him some, and sure enough, it's only enough for one person. So he slides the mug towards Eddie and gets started on some more. "So, what're you doing not-at-home, Eddie?"

.

Eddie says thank you, surprised by Mike's kindness in letting him have the first cup, then gets started on looking for cream and sugar in the small community kitchen. "Uhh, well, my mom lives in New York, so that's a little too far away to go home for just a day or two. And a little too _soon_ ." He laughs. "What about you?" 

.

Mike smiles as he taps his fingers against his empty mug, leaning against the counter while he waits for his coffee to be done. Although in his gut he feels a little uneasy; Eddie not only _looks_ familiar, he _feels_ familiar too, just like Stan did. It's as bizarre as it is comforting.

"Same reason, sort of," he replies. "My parents are just a town over, but, you know. I'm trying to be a little independent for once."

.

"Yeah, I feel you on that." Eddie smiles a little, but he quickly starts to feel uneasy, and averts his gaze to his coffee cup. "One town over, huh? I grew up around here, too, before I was in New York. It's weird to be back."

.

Mike ceases his tapping, and squints at Eddie from the corner of his eye. _Could it be? Goddammit, what're the odds?_

"Let me guess," he says with an amused grin as he moves to turn off the coffee brewer and pour himself a hot cup o' joe (as his dad would say). "Are you from Derry? And also a transfer student, by any chance?"

.

"Hah... what?" Eddie's smile falters. "How'd you know?"

.

"Don't worry, I'm not a weird stalker." Mike laughs. "It's just that... everyone I've met here so far grew up in Derry, moved away during middle or high school, and also just _happened_ to transfer back here of all places. It's bizarre." He shakes his head, and blows softly over his coffee to cool it down before taking a sip. "I'm from Derry and a transfer too, only I never left Derry. This is my first time living out of town." 

.

Eddie leans against the kitchen counter, surveying Mike curiously. "I've met a couple of people from Derry, too. Maybe we're just meeting the same people." He shrugs, and then finishes preparing his coffee. "I think it's pretty normal for people not to end up going too far from home, even if they try to at first. Not as bizarre as it seems, I don't think."

He takes a sip from his mug, immediately feeling more awake. He knows it's entirely psychological, but he's not about to complain about the instant relief that comes from the first sip of coffee in the morning.

.

Mike nods as Eddie talks, thoughtfully sipping his coffee. "I dunno. The same story six times in a row sounds pretty bizarre to me. I've seen some other old classmates from Derry around, but none of them with the exact same story. You've got to admit that's weird."

.

Eddie smiles politely. "Life is full of coincidences, isn't it?"

He takes another sip, squinting at Mike. He does look somewhat familiar, but it's been a while. "I moved just before senior year - though I don't know if we would have even been in the same graduating class, anyway. Did you play any sports?"

.

"Yeah, I was a halfback in the varsity football team." Mike smiles fondly, remembering how proud of himself he was back then for making the team. Then he looks back at Eddie. "Y'know, you remind me of someone," he takes another sip, "My last name's Hanlon, ring any bells? What's yours?"

.

"Kaspbrak. I was a cheerleader for a couple of years, maybe that's why? I was the first male flyer Derry had," Eddie says proudly, though he hasn't really thought about it in years. "Actually, I had an ex on the football team, maybe you knew him. Wes Peterson?”

He pauses for a moment, realizing that he just casually outed himself to a stranger in _rural Maine_. He’s been doing that a lot lately, and it can’t end well. “He, uh… he was a wide receiver for Varsity before he graduated." 

.

"Yes!" Mike exclaims as the memory clicks. "You were the guy on the cheer squad! Eddie Kaspbrak! _That's_ where I know you from." Then he squints, looking over his mug as he recalls Peterson. "Uh, yeah, I remember him... I remember not liking him," he chuckles, "but not why I didn't. But to be fair, I didn't like a lot of people in high school." 

.

"Yeah, well, he was - wait," Eddie looks at Mike with furrowed brows, "I seriously don’t remember you at all. I’m sorry... guess my memory's pretty shitty, huh?"

.

"It's okay," Mike says. "Some people want to forget all about high school, I guess. I didn't recognize you at first, either. And I sure don't blame you for not remembering me."

.

"Yeah, I guess, but I would’ve seen you at all the games, so I should at least have been like ‘hey I’ve seen that guy before’, right? I remember my dickhead ex and a bunch of his dickhead teammates perfectly fine… I think." Eddie frowns, embarrassed by his unintentional lack of tact. “Maybe it’s just because you weren’t a dickhead?”

.

"I mean, I barely remember my teammates either. It's normal. Well... I remember _Wes_ , I guess. And Connor. And Jake, Brad was cool, Austin, Lance..." Mike picks up his cup again and takes a sip. "I remember Connor’s girlfriend, Ashley, from the cheer squad, everybody loved her. Actually, I remember _most_ of the cheer squad, the older ones at least. Except for you... hmm." He stares down at his cup, swirling his coffee around thoughtfully, then chuckles to himself. "Yeah, y'know, maybe it is weird."

.

“Yeah… weird.” Eddie looks at the floor for a moment, thinking about his own teammates and how, even if he doesn’t remember every single name, he can picture their faces, then looks back up at Mike. “Oh, Ashley was a good friend of mine! We kind of lost touch, I guess… she went to uhh,” he pauses, “Vanderbilt, I think, and I moved that same summer, so… haven’t seen her in years, either. I was with her and Connor all the time, though, especially when I was uh, with Wes.”

He laughs. “Which is why I’m surprised I didn’t see you around much. Did you live under a rock outside of practice or something? Not big on parties?”

.

Mike laughs a little at that and shrugs. "I mean, you're not wrong. I went to parties sometimes, but it wasn't my thing. I just went because my - the guys from the team wanted me to, you know?" He hesitates to call them _friends_ , since he was never really close with any of them. He'd always been kind of a loner, and high school was no exception. He vaguely remembers... _something_ , but, no. If he had any real friends from back then, he'd remember them for sure. "I grew up out of town on a farm, so my days were always full. I liked hanging out with my parents more than anything else."

.

Eddie laughs a little at that. “Very funny.” He meets Mike’s eyes and realizes he’s not, in fact, joking. “Oh. Can’t relate. I _never_ wanted to be home.”

It doesn’t seem like that big of a deal to show that little bit of honesty around Mike, and his surprise over that brings fresh discomfort with it, so he backtracks a bit. “But I mean, that’s pretty normal in high school, I think.”

.

"Yeah, for most people it is, I suppose," Mike says, "but for me... well, they're like my best friends. We talk about everything. But that's weird for most people, too." He glances at Eddie while he sips on his coffee, trying to think of a way to word his questions without seeming intrusive. His gut tells him Eddie has a lot to say in this department. "What do you think?"

.

“Maybe it is… I think most people probably fall somewhere in the middle.” Eddie shrugs, and drinks his coffee - what’s left of it, anyway. “You’re lucky, though, to be that close to both of them. Even if it is weird, it’s a good kind of weird.”

.

“Guess I was lucky,” Mike replies, smiling lightly behind his mug. It's almost empty, so he turns around and pours himself another cup, as he's starting to feel a bit edgy thinking about home. “Where do _you_ fall on that front?”

.

Eddie smiles tightly. “Oh, you know… normal. Whatever _that_ means.” He laughs and shifts from one foot to the other. “Uh, listen, thanks for the coffee, Mike, but I should go like, get started on homework or something.”

.

"Oh, hah, okay," Mike says, amused. "You go do that. You hang out with Richie, right? I'll see you around."

.

Eddie stops and regards Mike with renewed interest. “... You know Richie?”

.

"Oh, yeah." Mike takes a big gulp of his coffee at the very _thought_ of his neighbor. "He lives across the hall from me, so we talk. It's hard _not_ to." 

.

“Oh, hah… yeah, he talks...” Eddie shifts awkwardly again, drumming his fingers on his nearly empty cup. He’s still not sure what to think about whatever is going on between he and Richie, so he needs all the information he can get about him. “What do you, um, think of him?”

.

"He's, uh..." Mike squints, trying to find the right words; his first impression of Richie was iffy, but that's usually the case with him. If anything, he’s a funny guy, and reminds Mike of someone he used to know.

"He's a character," he finally responds with a small smile. "He's funny. We like the same music. I feel like I know him, like we went to school together or something? It's weird, you'd think I'd remember him better."

.

“Yeah... he is funny.” Eddie chews his bottom lip and looks at Mike for a moment. He feels like he knows Richie, too - or rather, he _wishes_ he had, and he vaguely remembers saying something to that effect while he was drunk the other night. “He lived in Derry too, for a little while... I’m not sure for how long. I don’t remember seeing him around.” 

.

"Yeah, well... everyone's memory seems a little hazy when it comes to Derry." Mike stares down into his cup, more perplexed than before, his brow furrowed. "...Even mine. And I never left. It's... weird." This is the first time he's really thought about it; he never forgets names or faces. Why now? It's all too strange.

.

Eddie laughs uncomfortably, _yet again_. He just wanted to get insight into Richie, not get back onto the subject of poor memories.

"Oh it can't be _that_ weird. We're not like, _robots_ , so we can't be expected to remember everything and everyone in our entire lives! Humans aren't built like that. It's totally normal to forget a lot of specific stuff from childhood, even high school," he says, rambling very fast, his voice pitching before he forces himself to stop and take a breath.

"I mean it's been a few years - I bet everyone would forget _everyone_ they went to school with if it weren't for Facebook shoving their life stories down our throats every day,” another breath, "or fuck it, maybe there was _lead_ in the water in Derry growing up so now we all have brain damage! It happens all the time, tap water is so dangerous, it's a breeding ground for contamination and who _knows_ how effective treatment plants really are, you know?" 

.

Mike tries and fails to chime in during Eddie's rant, and by the time it's done, he's not sure how to react. Is this guy _okay?_ He seemed all fine a minute ago, and now he's acting like a regular nutbar. Chemicals in the water and the whole bit.  

"Uhm." He blinks twice then looks back down, purses his lips, and takes a sip of coffee. He needs it. "I mean. That's... one, uh, explanation..."

.

“Haven’t you ever seen _Erin Brockovich?!_ I mean, that wasn’t lead... but still! There are all kinds of chemicals fucking people up all across the country,” Eddie says, as though it is the most obvious fact on Earth. “Maybe Derry has a history of it. Maybe we _all_ have shitty memories. Maybe we’re _all_ going to get cancer!” At this point, he’s talking loudly and animatedly, and likely doing a much better job of convincing _himself_ than Mike. “Like, fuck, my dad had cancer! And there are _all kinds_ of things wrong with _me_ so... yeah.” 

.

Mike laughs, a little uncomfortably, thinking that Eddie _has_ to be messing with him. But it's obvious that he isn't. He downs the rest of his coffee and sets it aside, then crosses his arms as he leans against the counter, kinda like his dad would do when he humored him as a kid.

"Eddie," he starts gently, "I'm sorry about your dad, but I don't think there's chemicals in Derry's water. I think you're just acting a little paranoid."

.

"Paranoid?" Eddie asks incredulously. "It's the _opposite_ of paranoid, really. Haven't you seen like _any_ Netflix documentaries? About the food industry? Or pollution? If it isn't the water, it's Monsanto - the food, or, you know, whatever. I'm just _saying_ that there's a reason everyone is sick, one way or another." He blinks at Mike. "You think I'm crazy, but I'm not. I’m not crazy." 

.

"The food in Derry isn't poisoned either. I - I literally _live_ on a farm, I know about the food in Derry." Mike pushes his glasses up slightly to rub his eyes, getting increasingly frustrated too early in the morning. "I'm not calling you crazy, I'm just saying you're being paranoid for no reason. Do you believe anything anyone tells you? _That's_ probably making you sicker than any chemical or conspiracy." 

.

"What? _No_ , of course not. I don't... that's crazy," Eddie argues, though he knows there's a grain of truth in what Mike said. He's always been gullible. But that's what Google is for, and doctors. They know better. He stares at Mike for another moment, then acquiesces. " _Fine_ , maybe it's all just a big coincidence. Sorry about... saying you were poisoning Derry, I guess." 

.

Mike sighs, feeling satisfied that his point got across, and fixes his glasses. "Well if my dad's farm gave your dad cancer, I guess he gave himself cancer, too." He gives Eddie a tiny smile, rolls up his sleeves and picks up his mug to wash, in an attempt to break from the tension. "It's okay. You didn't know."

.

Eddie _almost_ wants to use this information as more proof that there's something wrong with Derry's water or something, but he knows that would be... less than tactful, and his empathy overwhelms his desire to be right. So he bites his tongue, literally, and takes a moment to reel himself in. "That... that really sucks, Mike... I'm sorry. Did uh... did he pass recently?" 

.

Mike's so caught off guard by the question that he almost drops the cup he's holding, and laughs nervously; an inappropriate response, but he can't stop himself. "What? No, no, he's fine. He's great! He's been in remission for a year, he's doing fine. Nothing to worry about. I mean, there are things to worry about, but he's fine, as if -"

He realizes at this point that _he's_ the one talking too fast and acting weird now, so he laughs that same anxious laugh again, and sets the mug down on the rack a little too aggressively. Then he takes a deep breath to ground himself, and starts on the other like nothing happened. "What about yours?" 

.

"Oh, he's dead," Eddie says bluntly. "He's been dead.” Realizing that probably makes him sound cold, he quickly clarifies, “For like fifteen years, almost, so I don't remember him really."

.

Mike looks up at Eddie curiously as he dries himself off, a little confused by his apathy; but how can you miss someone you don't remember, right? "I'm sorry to hear that. So it's just you and your mom?"

.

"Yeah. Well... sort of. It was." Eddie shrugs. "I've been staying with my grandparents since May. My dad's parents. My mom's still in New York."

.

Mike tilts his head, waiting for elaboration, but Eddie doesn't continue. He _wants_ to ask, but it's rude to get into other people's business if they don't want you to, as his mom would say. "That's nice, too. I don't see my grandparents as often as I used to." He smiles a little. "I don't like being away from home... I call my mom pretty much every night. That's why I made myself stay here this weekend,” he chuckles, “although I'm sure she wouldn't mind me going back." 

.

Eddie laughs wryly. "My mom would shit herself with joy if I called her every night. _Or_ if I went back. She doesn't want me to be here at all." He looks down at his mug and swirls the little bit of remaining coffee around.

"I talked to her yesterday and it was..." He stops, looks up at Mike, and wonders why he's been talking so openly with an almost perfect stranger all this time. "Well, y'know how moms are."

.

"Not really," Mike responds, still smiling, but looking just a little confused. "Sure, my mom misses me, but... yours doesn't want you to go to _college?_ " 

.

"...Sort of. It's just not the best place for me," Eddie replies with a shrug, then catches himself. "I mean, according to her." He leans against the counter and puts his coffee mug down. "It's expensive, too. And far away. She wants me to come home once the semester is over and get a job instead. I probably should, to help, but... I dunno."

.

"Doesn't sound like you want to do that,” Mike observes.

.

"Well, no, of course not. But when does that ever _really_ matter?" Eddie smiles, though it’s clearly forced. "It's sort of selfish to be here when my mom needs the support, don't you think?" 

.

Mike looks down and starts fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He feels a little called out and guilty, as if he didn't feel that enough already. But then he shakes his head and looks back up at Eddie. "I think what you want matters. Your mom should think what you want matters, too." He shrugs. "It was my parents that encouraged me to leave. I came here to be close to them, but I wanted to be close to them, and they respected that. You know what I mean?"

.

"Yeah, I understand. It's nice that they support you so much," Eddie says, his smile fading. "But uh, I have a lot to get done today for class this week, so... I should get to it." He straightens up, and quickly rinses out his coffee mug. “So, I'll see you around."

.

Mike doesn't resist the change of subject. Again, it's rude to butt into someone's business. So he just chuckles and gives Eddie a friendly smile. "Alright, then, good luck. See you around." He watches Eddie leave and lingers for a moment, still processing all this new information. Then he pours himself another coffee, and goes to the lounge to call home.

.

Eddie leaves the room feeling on edge. Something about Mike kind of weirds him out, mostly because the whole conversation was too _comfortable_ for his liking. Comfortable in a very _uncomfortable_ way, especially after Mike’s implication about his memories…

What’s more, now he’s got his mother on his mind again (‘ _again’_ \- a laughable concept... as if she ever _really_ leaves). He’s focusing too much on their phone call the day before, and by proxy how shitty he felt afterward when Richie was around. And then there was that weird moment last night with Stan, yet again about Derry. On top of all of that, he actually _does_ have a lot of homework to do.

All of these thoughts keep bouncing around his head, each doing their part to thoroughly stress him out, and by the time he gets back to his room, his throat is tight and his heart is racing. So, naturally, he makes a beeline for his medicine drawer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow us/chat with the Losers on Tumblr! [losersincollege](https://losersincollege.tumblr.com)
> 
> Authors on this chapter:  
> Eddie - [ao3: confunded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/confunded); [tumblr: eddiefuckingkaspbrak](https://eddiefuckingkaspbrak.tumblr.com)  
> Mike - [ao3: mikehanlonstan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikehanlonstan); [tumblr: mikehanlonstan](https://mikehanlonstan.tumblr.com)  
> 


	5. Richie Goes Home for Labor Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie returns to Portland to have dinner with his parents, and gains a new understanding of his mom.

**Monday, 09/03, evening; Tozier Household, Portland, Maine**

Richie has spent a lot of time with his parents. Enough time to know their level of happiness in life. 

His father is a man who goes through the motions with complete satisfaction. There is a set routine he follows every single day. Wake up, eat a piece of toast, read the morning paper while drinking a cup of black coffee, go to work, clean teeth all day (because he is a dentist, not just for kicks), come home, kiss his wife on the cheek, have dinner, read for a bit, then go to bed knowing he will repeat the process again the next day. He is always present enough in conversations to appear listening but distant enough to avoid connecting. Richie can get him to connect with jokes, but those are usually quickly shut down by his mother who deems them inappropriate. He is a brilliant man with simple needs, completely content with how his life turned out. He jokes that an off switch on his son would have been nice, or at least a volume dial, but for the most part, he is happy. 

His mother is more obviously less content. Well, obvious to Richie. He would never admit this, but he admires his mother more than anyone in the world. She performs the best acting show around. She puts on a strong face of being fine with cooking, cleaning, and caring for her two guys. All her friends and family believe she lives the perfect life. There will always be food on the table, constant conversation, a roof over her head, and a man that loves her. Except every smile or laugh seems a little forced, her faraway looks more frequent than she realizes. She has lived in Maine her whole life and rarely ever travels. Richie’s pretty sure she wants to see the world but has settled with that never being a possibility. Her acting is so good, even  _ she _ believes her happiness is real. 

His mother’s life is something Richie fears repeating. Being born, living, and dying in one place. Unable to become bigger and better than who he is currently. 

He knows both his parents like a favorite movie he’s watched on repeat, where he can recite all the words and lovingly appreciate every scene. Richie honestly adores his parents, he just wishes they were a bit more… well… more emotionally _ there. _

Tonight, he is spending Labor Day with them. Not because it is an important holiday but because there is a special agreement between him and his dad. Wentworth sort of tricked him by officially giving over Richie’s grandfather’s car to him, then stating that if he wanted to move out, he would have to come home for dinners with them as regularly as he could. 

He knows his father means well, he just gets anxious spending too much time with his mother. He only really annoys her, at least that’s what it seems like. How do you please an unpleasable person? He’s tried everything. 

“Riche!” his mother yells from the kitchen. 

“Yeah?!” he says from his spot in the living room. The television is playing an old season of  _ Parks and Recreation _ .

“Please, turn off the television and come eat!” She sounds stressed out, like she has been repeating herself but he didn’t hear. “Don’t make me repeat myself again!”

That checks out. Richie clicks the show off and bounds into the dining room. The Tozier Portland house is much bigger and grander than his parents need. It has a kitchen with a breakfast island, a dining room, two living rooms, two master bedrooms, three upstairs rooms, two studies, and five bathrooms. Richie’s grandparents lived with them for a little bit, so it made sense to have lots of space. Now that they had passed away and Richie is in college, it is only excessive. 

It takes him a couple minutes to even get over to the dining room because he was in the second living room on the other side of the ridiculously huge house. 

“Mom, for the hundredth time, y’all need to DOWNSIZE.” Richie plops into his chair, which is seated on the left side of his father, who sits at the head of the table, while his mother sits on the right side and across from Richie. This has been the seating arrangement his entire life. The one and only time he tried to sit in his mother’s chair, a glorious wrath was unleashed on him. So he sticks to his chair.

“Richie, for the hundredth time, do not sass me before I have eaten.” His mother starts serving the food to each plate. 

“The boy’s right, Mags.” His father turns the page of his newspaper like some kind of man from the 50’s. All he is missing is a pipe. “We really should think about downsizing. After all, half the time I cannot hear you when you call my name in this house.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s more your lack of listening,  _ Dear, _ ” she fires back.

Richie takes a bite out of the chicken parmigiana his mother has created. Nothing has ever tasted so good - that may be because the cafeteria food is terrible in comparison, but he stands by this being the best meal ever. “His hearing is going,” Richie says, talking while eating. “You can’t blame him, mom. He’s older than dirt.” 

“Mouth closed when you chew, Richard!” 

He immediately closes his mouth while rolling his eyes. 

“Which makes _ you _ only a few decades away from dirt as well.” Wentworth turns his newspaper with a bit of flair. Richie’s pretty sure he didn’t read a single word on that last page. 

Richie points his fork. “I plan to stay young forever, daddio.”

“Is that so?” his mother interjects with a small smile on her lips. “You’ll have to share your secret with me.”

“Oh mom,” Richie pours every bit of charm he can into his words, “you already achieved Young Forever status.”

Her smile widens but she does not acknowledge the compliment. That is how she has always been - hates but also loves being complimented by others. She is constantly told how beautiful, kind, and perfect she is. She’ll politely nod or perhaps give a thank you, except the sincerity never reaches her eyes. Only when her eyes are downcast and smile is practically hidden does anyone know she has appreciated what they said. 

“I’m not doing your laundry, Richie,” she responds, picking up her glass of wine and squishing it around like a cheesy villain. How easily she sees through him. 

“Third day of wearing the same underwear,” Richie states. 

“Oh good heavens, fine! Put it in the laundry room after dinner.” That’s right, they also have a whole room dedicated to laundry. This house is extremely extra. 

“Muchas gracias, Madre,” Richie replies, then digs back into his meal. 

Wentworth finally puts his newspaper down to focus on eating as well. “This is delicious, Maggie,” he says after a few bites.

She nods and sprinkles more cheese on her pasta. If they have been married for twenty-two years, and his mother has made dinner every night of those twenty-two (minus times they have eaten out), then his father has said these words roughly 6,336 times. Oh wait, they dated for a year before getting married, so 6,624. No real reason to do the math there, other than to prove it is a phrase that should be retired forever and eternity. 

“This meal,” Richie begins in an announcer's Voice, “completely and utterly outdoes every meal I have been suffering through the past couple weeks. It encapsulates everything a person could possibly want: chicken, sauce, pasta, and cheese. There is no cooking that is on par with you, mom. No finer dish could have entered my mouth, never to see the light of day in its original form again.”

His mother snorts into her glass of wine, which spurs on Richie’s antics. 

“There truly is no person I would rather have cook a classic cuisine such as your Chicken Parm.” he pauses to imagine an applause for his fine speech giving, then adds, “except perhaps internationally renowned chef Gordon Ramsay.  _ He  _ might be able to make something better. But it is his life’s profession.”   

The sigh that leaves his mother’s mouth is a familiar and exhausted one. However, the usual silence that follows from her does not occur, which is strange.

“The food isn’t good? Well, I will send you back with some meals for you and your roommate. William was it?” 

Richie is so surprised he forgets to correct his mother and say his name is Bill. “That… .that would be great, mom.”

“How is your roommate?” his father asks. Both of them have finished their meals, waiting on his mother so they can have dessert. 

“He’s really cool,” Richie says, perking up as he talks about Bill. “We clicked immediately and are keeping the school on its toes.”

“Please, don’t get kicked out,” Maggie pleads.

Richie knows she is joking, but it is dripping with genuine concern. He cannot help the feeling of guilt that bubbles in his stomach. He is known to cause more trouble than he is worth. He can talk himself out of most punishments, but came very close to expulsion at least once in his life. 

“Worry naught, young lady,” a heroic, old-timey Voice shines through, “I shalt ne’er disappoint ye.”

“Voice needs work, son.” His father grins. “Her worry doth ne’er leave.”

Maggie gets up, picks up the plates, and brings them to the kitchen. Richie is about to make another comment but hesitates. Instead, he follows his mother. “I’ll do the dishes. You cooked, mom.”

She glances at him in confusion, as if he has never offered to voluntarily do dishes. Well, he hasn’t before, but that’s not the point. 

She moves aside to grab bowls for ice cream and Richie gets to work on the dishes. It doesn’t take very long, as they have a dishwasher he is able to load everything into after a little rinsing. After, his mother taps his shoulder and hands him a bowl. The ice cream is chocolate with chocolate syrup and chocolate sprinkles. His mouth practically starts to water at the sight. 

They head back into the dining room together where his father is checking email on his business phone. 

“I will definitely have to be in early tomorrow. Lots of root canal surgeries. A bunch of people are going to hate me, but I am going to love them for their money.” The ice cream is placed in front of his dad, who immediately digs in. The irony is not lost on Richie. 

Richie looks to his mother and asks, “What have you been up to since I’ve moved out?” He has been wondering this for a little while. His mother must be bored out of her mind, or perhaps finally having a good rest every day. She did seem more pleased than usual since Richie had been back. It freaked him out a little. 

“Cleaning the house from top to bottom, throwing out things we don’t need, and,” she stops, seeming to contemplate whether she wants to say the next part, “I’m looking to apply to work for the school district.”

Richie raises his eyebrows. “Really? That’s great mom!”

She shifts in her chair. “You think?”

“Of course. You have been volunteering at my schools since I was a kid. Why shouldn’t you get paid to do it?” 

“Well, thank you, sweetheart.” Those four words warm him from the inside out.

They enjoy their ice cream, then Richie suggests they watch a movie together. It’s been a while since they have and he wants to elongate the night. 

“No can do, boy-o,” his dad responds. “I’ve got an early morning.”

Maggie clears her throat. “One movie isn’t going to hurt, Went.” 

He gives her a sheepish look, then nods his head and they head to one of the living rooms. 

The movie Richie picks is  _ The Godfather _ , a movie the three of them watch every year at some point. They can act out the whole movie together, which happened one time when he was thirteen. Both his parents had been drinking a lot that night. Fortunately, he took videos to show them the next day.

They get about halfway through the movie when he checks his phone, seeing a couple memes from Bill and a nice text from Eddie. He messages both of them back. 

“So how has Empty Nest Syndrome been treating you?” Richie asks casually in his mother’s direction on the couch they are sharing.

“It’s been quiet,” she states, not meeting his eyes at first. When he doesn’t answer her with a snarky comment, she looks over at his grinning face. “What?”

“You missed me.” His eyes crinkle in delight.

“Of course I miss you. You’re my son,” she says in surprise. 

“The DNA tests are still out on that,” Wentworth adds. 

Her head whips toward her husband, about ready to raise her voice when she realizes he is kidding around. She takes a deep breath and deadpans, “Oh honey, you didn’t hear? The DNA tests _ did _ come back and you’re not the father.” 

Silence. It is so quiet you can hear the cars driving outside. Then Richie bursts into laughter, his father joins in, and his mother soon follows. They are laughing so hard and long that Richie is sure his gut is going to burst open. 

When they quiet down and get back to the movie, Richie reaches over and pats his mother’s arm. A silent understanding passes between them, something so rare he can hardly believe it is real.

Perhaps she is a little happier because he is home, not because he has been gone. 

Yes, it remains true that his mother’s life is something Richie fears repeating. He wants to do more for himself, but he also wants to do it for her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow us/chat with the Losers on Tumblr! [losersincollege](https://losersincollege.tumblr.com)
> 
> Author on this chapter:  
> Richie - [ao3: thetheatregal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetheatregal); [tumblr: richiefuckfacetozier](https://richiefuckfacetozier.tumblr.com)  
> 


	6. Ben and Beverly Take a Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after the party, Ben and Beverly stumble upon each other and decide to take a ride in Ben's Cadillac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! But this Benverly is worth it, we promise!

**Tuesday, 09/04, afternoon; Derry, Maine**

If Bev had gained a nickel for every time she thought about the frat party on Saturday, she’d be a millionaire. If she had a penny for every time she reminisced over what happened after that party, she’d be a _billionaire_. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but those events have been replaying in her head quite often since the weekend.

Her heart swells up at the very idea of Ben Hanscom. Yet she worries.

She can’t tell if she’s starting to fall for _him,_ or his lines. Maybe it was all a ploy, a detailed method of picking up girls. Even though Beverly knows that isn’t likely, she still doesn’t know what to think. And it’s for this exact reason that she doesn’t have a desire to fall for someone right now. Feelings are so complicated and messy, so it’s best to not deal with them.

This is a lot to think about on the way back to her dorm to drop off her things before grabbing lunch, so Bev decides a change in thinking is the way to go. It’s best to not think. So her mind is now stuck on the explore page on Instagram, which she’s scrolling through as she makes her way to her dorm room.

.

Ben still has no idea of what happened at the party that made him go so head over heels for a woman he just met. Laying down on his bed for a while before lunch, he keeps wondering if maybe it wasn’t just a really _good_ dream. He thinks that’s possible, or at least way more possible than actually being noticed by the girl on the bike.

He sighs with his hands grasped over his abdomen and his eyes concentrated on the ceiling. _But it felt so real_. Ben’s cheeks blush. Oh, it _was_ real. It was real and he still doesn’t understand what was going on with him that night. Of course, she’s funny, beautiful, and incredibly magnetic -  but he has only known her for a day (or two, if he thinks about their first incident). He doesn’t know who she truly is, even if he feels like he does. His heart has no business feeling like this about a total stranger, and yet the thought of her eyes looking up at him and her peach-stained lips make his heart beat faster.

Ben can’t remember a time in which he felt this way, except maybe when he was a kid - _yeah, there's that memory again_ \- when he was just a boy in love with a girl whose face he can't picture anymore. Other than that, he’d never been interested in anyone, not _really_. Most of the time he doesn’t even realize girls are falling for him until they confess, leaving him awkward and speechless. It’s not that he doesn’t think they’re nice, it just never feels _right_ (like most things anyway). That is a difficult feeling to explain, so he'd rather save himself the trouble. With Beverly, though, it’s been completely different from the very beginning. He doesn’t want to say it’s _right_ yet, but it feels pretty damn close to it. Or maybe it was just the alcohol.

He looks at his watch and shakes his head. Thirty minutes were gone in the blink of an eye, and he didn’t even get anything done. He stands up from the bed, puts on his good old boots, grabs his bag with his wallet and heads outside.   
  
He only manages to walk a couple of steps before he stops.   
  
_She’s_ there, walking in the hallway, with her eyes on her phone and Ben Hanscom doesn’t know what to do with himself. He clears his throat, watching her getting closer, and mentally prepares to talk. He quickly fixes his hair and straightens his clothes, which causes him to look down at them. He realizes he’s wearing almost the exact same outfit as the one he used at the party. They’re not the _same_ clothes, but they look very similar (all his wardrobe kind of does, because it’s more practical that way). Then he glances at her again, looking casual yet stylish, just as stunning as the last time. He remembers she said she cared about clothes, so what would she think about him and his ‘white t-shirt number five’? And why does he care?

He looks at her again, then at his door, and suddenly decides to turn around and go back inside his room, slamming the door behind him and shaking his head. There's no rational explanation as to why her presence makes him act so strangely.

.

The loud noise causes Bev to jump a bit, and definitely switches her attention from her phone to the hallway, wondering what the story behind that door slam could be.

The pace she walks in is fairly average, possibly a bit speedy, but only because she's starving and can't wait to get lunch already. In the midst of her pathway, she sneaks a glance at the door that could be where Ben and Mike reside. She thinks. She doesn't _exactly_ remember if Richie had told her their room was across the hall or next door. The door that she looks at has a nice energy to it despite her confusion, so she can only assume it's theirs.

Beverly reaches her dorm room, _maybe_ wishing that she’ll see Ben if she looks back, and _possibly_ wanting to recreate Saturday night. And once again she's back to thinking about him, causing her to be annoyed at herself. _Geez, can you not think about him for five seconds? Since when was a boy all you can think about?_ It’s as if all of Bev's beliefs about not letting a guy take over her life just went out the window as soon as she met Ben.

What's even special about him, anyway? Besides his sweet nature and kind words and... warm touch... and the way he looked at her, as if she were a priceless artwork? Okay, perhaps there _is_ something about Ben Hanscom that makes him quite memorable. But it was only one night, they hung out for _one_ night, which is not enough time to know what he's like during the day, or with his friends, or even _sober_ for that matter. So why is she _still_ thinking about him?

Bev quickly swaps her backpack for her wallet, then she exits her room, going back out into the hallway to get lunch. This time her pace is more relaxed and a bit slow, especially - much to her own disdain - when she approaches room 221.

.

Ben looks around his room and spots a scarf lying around. There's no time to change all his clothes, so that will have to do. He grabs it and throws it around his neck, secretly hoping it'll make him look a little bit better. He inhales deeply and opens the door, only to find Beverly walking almost right by the entrance. It takes him a second to breathe again. He gives her a shy smile.

“Hi.” He looks at her eyes and then at the ground.

.

Bev’s breath hitches as the door opens, now unsure if actually seeing Ben again was a good idea.

“Hey.” A small smile naturally appears on her face at the sight of him, and a brighter one forms when she notices his outfit. She lets out a light chuckle, stepping closer towards him. “Nice scarf you got there, isn’t it a bit too warm for one though?”

.

Her smile makes Ben feel warm inside, even more than the scarf around his neck in the middle of the day. _Shit, she's right_. He blushes and laughs nervously.

"Thank you. It's not so bad, really," he says, eyes on the floor. She's talking to him and her tone of voice doesn't sound annoyed like he thought it'd be, which is a huge relief. Ben shifts his weight from one leg to the other as he looks at her again. "How's it going? How are you?"

.

Bev mindlessly plays with the bracelet on her wrist. "It's going alright, I'm about to go get something to eat." Right on time, her stomach lightly growls. "What about you? How have you been?"

She moves to the side so as to not get in the way of any other students passing by. The closer she gets to Ben the more nervous she gets, but she hopes to give off a cool exterior despite what she's feeling.

.

Ben notices her movement, and a sudden spark lights up in his brain for a fraction of a second. It's the memory of a bracelet, but it's gone as soon as he opens his mouth to speak again.

"I've been okay, thank you. I was also about to go get lunch. Do you have lunch plans?" His voice comes out soft and almost kind of scared as he looks into her eyes. Ben assumes she won't talk about the party, so he doesn't either, though he wonders if she remembers it at all. He puts his hands in his pockets and slightly swings his body back and forth.

.

“No.” Bev’s mouth works faster than her brain in this instance, forgetting she usually meets with her roommate for lunch, but she figures she can miss out just once. “Well - No, I don’t have any plans. Why? You thinking about taking me somewhere in that Cadillac of yours?”

.

"Uh? Oh! No, no, I was just asking." Ben’s face starts burning. He stops himself from talking for a moment and looks for a sign in her face. "Unless that's what you want? We could do that if you want."

.

"No, I don't want to impose. I mean, I guess it would be cool, but you don't have to drive or anything, I'll just go grab something from the dining hall."

Bev runs her fingers through her hair and looks up at him with a reassuring smile, but then looks away so her blushing cheeks wouldn’t be visible. She really didn't mean to make it so that she was insisting he drives, so her reddening face is only a natural reaction to her slight embarrassment.

.

"You wouldn't be imposing," Ben says, perhaps too quickly, and bites his lower lip. "Really, I'd be happy to drive, if you think it's cool. I also think it'd be cool. But if you want to go to the dining hall that's good too."

.

It’s a relief to hear him say that, which is why Bev has no problem with choosing the car. “Come on.” She steps away from the door. “You’re driving. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can avoid long lunch lines.”

.

Ben’s face shines. "Okay."

They go downstairs together and approach the car. Ben observes her, anxious and excited, and he opens the door for her to sit in the passenger seat. When she's in the car, he goes to the other door and sits next to her. "Are we good? Where do we want to go?"

.

There’s a slight shock to see that chivalry isn't dead after all. Not that Bev really _needs_ the door opened for her, but the gesture is nice and sweet and definitely leaves her blushing. As soon as she sits down she buckles her seat belt and looks around the car, making herself familiar with the shotgun seat.

"Yep, all good. Well, _where_ depends on what we're in the mood for. Personally, I can enjoy just about anything right now, I'm _that_ hungry. But I do have an affinity for pizza always, and ice cream, but that's not much of a meal. I dunno, what are you thinking?"

.

Ben gives a quick look around the car to make sure it isn’t messy, but he has nothing to worry about. There's a piece of cloth laying around, which he grabs and puts inside the glove box. Other than that, it's alright. Even if the Cadillac is old, it’s well maintained, clean and tidy. The inside of it is pretty much the same as it originally was before he repaired it with his the help of his boss, except for the new radio and phone holder next to it. He purses his lips and moves them from on side to the other while he considers their options.

“I’m thinking… Chinese food? Or sushi? I think I saw a place, somewhere.” He narrows his eyes, trying to remember where it was, and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “I could do pizza too, though. Can’t go wrong with pizza. We can get ice cream too. Maybe a milkshake... Yeah, that sounds alright with me. What do you say?”

.

Bev turns slightly in her seat to make it easier to talk to Ben. She feels the same way she felt Saturday night with a little bit of added anxiety. Still, though, she feels calm around him; he has a familiar presence that Bev isn't sure is possible considering they just met, and yet… it’s as if she already knows what kind of guy he is: a nice one that won't hurt her. Nonetheless, it’s the usual fear that holds her back.

A grin forms on her face anyway. "When you add milkshakes into the mix then we _have_ to do that. It's kind of law that we can't pass up that combo." 

.

Ben laughs. "Off we go then."

He starts the car and, once they leave the parking lot, he looks at her again. Suddenly the realization that she is actually _right there with him in his car_ hits him. He flushes and looks away while he takes his scarf off to avoid sweating. _So long, style._

Ben thinks about taking the top down, but it's probably not going to take them too long to find a place. "Are you comfortable? You can roll down your window and, uh," he makes a gesture toward the radio, "pick the music if you want."

.

"You're letting me handle the music? Wow, you really know how to make a girl happy, Hanscom." Bev switches through some stations before settling on one that was playing _Underdog_ by Banks. She set the volume low enough for them to hear but still have a functional conversation. She also takes his advice of rolling down the windows, since the breeze feels great in this weather.

"So, how'd you end up with a car like this?" Her hand casually rests outside the window going against the wind.

.

Ben catches glimpses of her every once in a while, his eyes glowing at the sight of her hair blowing in the wind, like wildfire flames.

"It was a gift." He considers whether or not to elaborate on the story as he rolls down his window and bites his lower lip. The song continues playing softly in the background. Then he decides to speak. "When I was in high school, my old boss made me repair it from scratch. It was practically garbage already, except for the cabin, but we tried anyway. I didn't know much about cars, to be honest, but he helped. Then when I went off to college he let me keep it. As a gift."

.

"Well, that was very Mr. Miyagi of him." Bev chuckles, hoping the reference doesn't fall short. She rolls up the window, leaving a small crack for fresh air. While the wind is fun it also leaves her hair a tangly mess, so she pulls her red locks into a quick ponytail. "No, but that's really cool though, restoring the whole thing. Can't imagine that was easy, how long did it take?"

.

"Mr. Miyagi. I guess you're right." Ben laughs. "Well, I started about a year after my mom and I got to Nebraska, so... two years, I think. I spent almost all of my time there, really, or with my mom. There or the library." The feelings of comfort and trust Bev generates in him make his words flow easily, although the pink color doesn't leave his cheeks. Something inside of him makes him want to talk to her, almost as much as it makes him want to listen to her. He looks at her quickly, then turns his face back to the road. "How did you spend your high school years?"

.

"I would say I had a standard high school experience. I went to a school that specialized in arts and tech, actually. I focused on the arts and took a lot of design classes, it was a lot of work but it was super fun. I made a group of friends. They were alright, but we kinda grew apart towards like the end of senior year. Nothing drama related, it just sorta happened,” Bev explains. “We all go to different schools now but I still like their pictures on Instagram and stuff. It's not like we ended on bad terms. Some people drift apart sometimes, y'know?"

.

“Sorry you drifted apart - yeah, it happens sometimes.” Ben nods and looks at her with a shy smile. “That’s really cool, though, those design classes.”

.

Retelling her high school experience didn't even make Bev sad, as it probably should. She just moved on, as if it had unintentionally happened before. She checks her phone, which reminds her of the fact that she has his number - a number she’s already been close to calling once or twice. "I was gonna text you this weekend but I was at my aunt's house, so I didn't really get a chance to."

.

“Oh, I was gonna text, too. I just -” Ben clears his throat. “Same thing, didn’t get a chance.”

Truth is, he had stared at her number the entire weekend, but he never got the courage to finally do it. The possibility that she regretted it and wouldn’t _actually_ want to talk to him after all clouded his mind. Whenever he started to type something, his fingers would immediately delete it, but now talking to her again makes him feel much more at ease.

He laughs, feeling kind of silly. “Well, hopefully now we’ll have time to do it, right?” A grin forms on his face as he finally spots a pizza parlor in their street. “Bingo!”

.

"Yes, of course!" Bev would be lying if she said there isn't a slight excitement that even the _thought_ of texting Ben brings her. The way she interprets his comment is that he _wants_ to talk to her, and she really hopes that's the case because if so the feeling is definitely mutual. She doesn't want to dwell on this, though, or get her hopes up, so she shakes her head and shifts her attention to pizza toppings. "What kind of pizza do you plan on getting?" 

.

Ben parks the car at the spot closest to the door, now happy to talk in peace without the distractions from the road. He looks at her in the eyes, finally, and turns off the car. "Uh, pepperoni? I don't know yet, maybe with extra cheese. How about you? Do you have any weird preference in toppings I should know about?"

.

Beverly unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to get a better view of Ben and his _‘aptly designed physique’._ "Pineapple, always. It's like a holy grail for me, so don't tell me you don't like pineapple on pizza..." 

.

Ben raises his eyebrows. " _Pineapple?_ Really? No, I don't. I've never met anyone who likes pineapple on _pizza_ , I was starting to think it was a myth." 

.

Bev very audibly scoffs at his answer before placing a hand on his shoulder. "Oh Benny, I think this might be the deal breaker. I'm not sure if I can hang out with someone who can only appreciate a savory pizza."

.

Ben's grin widens at the touch of her hand, though he hides it by looking down at the gearshift between them. He nods, jokingly serious. “This is serious business, I see. What should we do with this situation? _Should I stay or should I go?_ ” He looks up into her eyes, but he quickly avoids them again. They’re too powerful. “Could you give this plain old savory-pizza-eater just one chance today?” 

.

A soft giggle escapes Bev’s lips at his song reference. She brings her hand from his shoulder up to the side of his face, tilting her head as she gazes at his features. They're familiar, especially his eyes; they're warm and sweet, yet hold knowledge and wisdom. Bev still has yet to figure out where she's seen them before. "Of course I will, how can I say no to you, _Cowboy?_ "

Her hand lingers a bit before finally dropping to her side, she gestures with her head that they should go order their food now.

.

Ben’s lips part as soon as he feels her palm on his now burning face, and a gasp tries to escape his mouth but gets caught in his throat. He swallows with difficulty, observing her, mesmerized, until she removes her hand. A shy, subtle smile appears on his face and he looks away. Ben can't speak so he nods several times, perhaps way too quickly, to make up for it.

He rolls up his window before exiting the car. When he closes the door he surprises himself by missing her touch, but he shakes that thought away as fast as he can. _Calm down, Hanscom, that makes no sense._

He walks over to her side to lock the car once she's standing beside him, and when they head inside, Ben holds the door open for her.

.

Once again Beverly sees that chivalry isn't completely dead, at least not with Ben Hanscom.

It's like all of her guarded walls melt away once she's with Ben and she can't help it. She's never been so naturally relaxed with someone before. She has to remind herself to tone it down though, because there's still that slight fear that something will go wrong. All the other boys Beverly has been interested in have proven her fear to be correct, and so could Ben.

She thanks him quickly and enters the parlor. It doesn't take them long to order their pizza slices and sit down in a booth nearby where they're seated across from each other.

"How are your classes treating you? You're majoring in Architecture, right?"

.

By the time they're sitting, Ben's feeling more calm and collected, his cheeks no longer betraying him. "Yeah, Architecture. They're fine, pretty good actually. I'm kind familiar with most of what we're covering. Won't be for long, though." He laughs. "But I'm hoping it'll be okay if I study enough. How about you? How's the music major going?"

.

Bev is glad to hear his classes are going great, and she wishes she could say the same thing. "Well, it's… going. I don't know what I expected. They're just _classes_ , I guess. I took like a ten-minute nap in The Art of Listening to Music today, so I guess that kinda sums up how I feel about them." She chuckles nervously, placing an elbow on the table to rest her chin in one hand. The fingers on her vacant hand tap the tabletop surface, mindlessly flowing into the style of a nameless composition she can play on the piano. Beverly can already hear the melody of it in her head; it starts off strong, almost harsh, but then abruptly transitions into a softer sound. "I dunno, it doesn't excite me. Are classes _supposed_ to be exciting? Are your classes exciting for you?" 

.

"Some are exciting, yeah. Others, not so much," Ben says, looking at her hand. "It's normal, I guess. I've been about to fall asleep in a few myself. Do you feel like that about all of your classes, though?" He motions slightly at her fingers. "What about piano?"

.

"Well, I hear the life of an Architect major is nothing but work and studying, so you have an excuse for falling asleep,” Bev assures him. “Piano is good. Arranging isn't half bad, either, and Richie keeps me company when he can during Advanced Harmony. I don't know, _something_ just feels missing. Like something should be there but isn't and I can't tell if it's me or..."

Her fingers stop and she places her hands back on her lap. The longer Beverly contemplates it, the more she starts to believe the problem is herself. "Maybe I'm just not trying hard enough, that's probably it. Like how can I be excited for a class when I keep bashing it every twenty seconds, y'know?" She seems to have solved her own dilemma, and she'll try taking her own advice once her next class rolls around.

And now Bev is aware she's been talking about herself and her problems for _far_ too long. "So, uh, you never told me why you left California." 

.

“Yeah…” Ben prefers not to talk about his past, and at the moment Beverly's present seems more important than an old story he'd rather not remember. He furrows his brows a little and tilts his head. "You probably bash it for a reason, though. If something's missing or it's not exciting then it's hard to focus on it, and it doesn't have to do with people not trying hard enough." He pauses for a second. "Is there anything else that you like?"

.

Bev crosses her arms and leans back into the booth, feeling kind of hopeless. "I was set on a music major since day one. I enjoyed it a lot at first, y'know? So I figured that I'd just keep going with it. I didn't really bother with looking into anything else. I haven't taken any other classes or joined any clubs." She doesn't want Ben to worry over this, it's her problem and she needs to fix it herself. "Look, it's whatever, I'll deal with it."

Finally, the waitress brings over their pizza slices.

.

Ben thanks the waitress. She smiles, and Ben doesn't notice the way her cheeks get slightly pink or how she fixes her hair behind her ear. He takes his slice, focused only on Beverly.

"You're smart, I'm sure you'll figure something out." Her body language and last words tell him she doesn't want to keep talking about the subject, so even if he’d be happy to continue, he stops as well and takes a bite of his pizza. "This is very good. How's yours?"

.

Beverly _certainly_ takes notice of the waitress and almost brings it to Ben’s attention, but he starts talking before she can say a word. She's just thankful that he actually let go of the subject instead of providing some of the many, _many_ uncalled for suggestions typically offered by men she interacts with.

She offers him a small grin in thanks, then takes a quick bite to find out the answer to his question. She eats, then lets out a chuckle before answering, "It's good actually, contrary to what your taste buds might think."

.

Ben laughs and takes another bite. "Great, great... is it really not too sweet?" he asks, looking at the pineapple on her Hawaiian pizza. "I've never tried it, but I guess that's what I imagine."

.

"I'm a big fan of salty and sweet; the balance just creates a perfect blend. You should try it out one day. I wasn't a fan until I had it to be quite honest, you might be surprised." She giggles and goes back to eating her slice.

.

Ben nods solemnly. "If you say so, I will," he says and chuckles. "So how do you feel about dipping fries in milkshakes?"

.

And there goes Beverly's heart, abnormally feeling some type of way, caused by none other than Ben Hanscom. "Fries and milkshakes are like the OG salty and sweet combo, I'd indulge in that any day."

.

Ben takes another bite of his pizza, then leans forward a little. "Awesome! I've been thinking about trying that out, and today might just be the perfect day, right? We did say we were getting milkshakes, after all." He grins and looks around. "Not sure if they sell them here, though…”

.

Bev looks around the pizza parlor for any type of machine that looks like it could make milkshakes but nothing catches her eye.

"It doesn't look like they do.” She brings her attention back to Ben and rests her head on her hand once again. “We could go around town looking for some?" Bev tries to ignore the fact that the two might have to go to their respective classes soon.

.

Ben raises his eyebrows. "That is...  a tempting option." He smiles and after a second of consideration (one less Plane Surveying class is not going to hurt), he knocks on the table twice. "Let's do that, then."

.

Bev's small smile turns into a complete beam at the news of his willingness. "Seriously?" She finishes off the rest of her pizza. "You don't have a class or anything?"

.

Her sudden radiant face makes Ben’s stomach flutter; after seeing it, he doesn't need any other reason to be completely certain of his decision. "I guess I do," he says quietly, and shrugs. "But this just seems like a better idea to me right now. And it's just one class anyway, so I think I'm fine with it. Are you?"

.

Beverly bites her bottom lip for just a second as her face turns into a rosy pink shade. “I’m fine with it. I kind of have class too, but I’d rather be here.”

She nods her head, not quite able to look Ben in the eyes again. If she does, what happened when he dropped her off at her dorm the other night might occur again. And although that _is_ the dream, Bev’s instincts remind her of her past with the guys that came before him. For the most part, they all _seem good_ and then...

She shakes her head and clears her throat. “Let’s go search for that milkshake then.” 

.

"We have a plan,” Ben says, and they get up from the booth to throw their paper plates in the trash before heading out.

When he’s in the car, Ben starts the engine. "Maybe it'll be a long ride, so..." He gets the top of the car down and looks at her expectantly as it moves. "Is this fine? I can put it back if you don't like it, it's no problem."

.

Bev hops inside the Cadillac. "Oh, this is so cool. Yes, it's totally fine!" She lets her hair down from her ponytail, tousling her red locks between her fingers. "Benny, I will actually be _offended_ if you put that top back up." 

.

Ben looks at her - and her hair - with sparkling eyes and a smile on his face. "Uh, you can pick the music again if you want."

.

"Hmm what are we feeling today?” Beverly moves herself closer to Ben. “Some pop? Classical? NPR?" She rests her head on his shoulder for a second thinking about what music feels right.

.

Ben feels her head against his shoulder, and even though he's pretty sure that little gesture should've made him actually _melt_... he instead finds himself unusually accustomed to it. Accustomed, comfortable, and utterly content. If it happens again, though, he thinks his weak heart would definitely not survive.

.

Beverly lifts her head once the correct answer comes to mind. "No, I know!"

She switches over to the station she knows quite well for their love of 80's music, and it's like some sort of magical being is looking over them this afternoon, because the beginning chords to _Should I Stay or Should I Go_ by The Clash start to play - the same song Ben referenced earlier. Beverly feels like she‘s being pranked or somehow this is a setup, either way, she chuckles at the serendipity of it all. 

.

Once she separates herself from him, Ben moves the car. As they leave the parking lot, he laughs at the song that starts blasting through the speakers. "We already answered the question, Mick Jones," he says, then looks briefly at Beverly before putting his eyes back on the road. "Okay, let's do this. Do you wanna look a place up on your phone or do we just wing it?"

.

Every time he looks at her, Beverly can feel her heart jump out of her chest, even if it is only for a split second. She pushes her hair to one side and twirls a piece in between two fingers. “If there’s one thing you should know about me, Benny, it’s that my answer will _always_ be to wing it.”

The nostalgic song plays in the background, with lyrics too catchy not to sing along to. “ _If you say that you are mine, I'll be here 'til the end of time..._ ” Bev mouths the remaining lyrics, but for that one line, she does happen to look at the driver. 

.

The sound of her voice brings joy and warmth to Ben’s heart, so familiar that it's almost as if he's heard it before. _But that's not possible, at all._ He slowly starts humming along until both are singing at the same time, and Ben laughs as he taps the wheel to the rhythm of the song.

As the car gains speed, the wind blows harder and it starts to mess with Ben's hair, which is getting long, but luckily not enough to interfere with his sight. He looks around, trying to find another good place to go, and in the process, they end up taking a local route going south.

.

The radio station’s music plays as the two cruise through Penobscot County. They don’t talk much, but Beverly doesn’t mind. It’s a comfortable silence; the same thing happened the night of the party, and just like she was equipped with a calm spirit that night, she finds herself feeling the same way now.

She almost doesn’t catch the cemetery coming up.

“Quick, hold your breath!” Bev does as she instructs.

.

When she yells, Ben jumps a little and, without even thinking, he does as he's told.

Ben observes the cemetery approaching and a sudden wave of melancholy goes through him as his eyes pass over the graves and the trees. An old memory _-_ one which he hadn't thought about in a while _-_ crosses over his mind: little Ben, looking up at his weeping mother, holding her hand tightly and wondering why she looks so sad; walking beside her in the middle of a lonely winter, overhearing conversations he couldn’t understand; Mommy’s smile, unhappy and fatigued, trying to assure him everything would be fine, but something told him his daddy wasn’t coming back.   
  
Ben doesn’t remember when he stopped visiting.   
  
He shakes his head, still holding his breath. The tombstones seem to go as deep into the cemetery as the little green fence goes long, his father’s grave somewhere inside. Ben thinks it's going to last forever... until it disappears behind them.

.

It’s a bit of a long hold; Beverly even finds herself quietly gasping for air once they’ve finished passing by. “Sorry about that, I was told once that you have to do that whenever you drive past a graveyard.”

.

When it's over, Ben exhales deeply and chuckles a little. "Really? Where did you hear that?"

.

Bev looks back at the cemetery. She hasn’t forgotten her daddy’s plot. It’s not entirely sadness she feels over his loss, and yet there’s not much happiness there either. That’s just how she’s lived with it her entire life, she supposes.

She draws her attention back to Ben and shrugs her shoulders. “I think I heard it on the school bus or something, just stuff that kids tell to spook each other out I guess. You’re supposed to hold your breath, otherwise you’re likely to become possessed by a spirit. I don’t believe in it much but I’ve been doing it ever since I heard it, so it’s become kind of a habit.”

.

Ben listens to her attentively with a soft smile. "I don't believe in ghost stories either but let's not risk it. I guess sometimes kids understand things adults just can't," he says. _That strange sensation again_. Like there's _something_ he knows, hiding behind a curtain, screaming in the distance and waiting to come out. He decides to ignore it for now.

“I don’t recall many stories from when I was a kid. Like, I didn’t remember the cemetery was there either, which is funny. We’re on our way to... Derry, right? You think we’ll find milkshakes back home?”

.

There’s something about what Ben mentions - adults being oblivious to what is actually happening - that brings Beverly goosebumps. “I think so… maybe... hopefully...” She giggles. “We can always track down an ice cream truck by some park if we need to. I know for a _fact_ those have milkshakes. Granted they might not be the best, but they do satisfy cravings.” 

.

"Oh, yeah! That's a good idea. Let's track down an ice cream truck." Ben laughs too as they continue their way to nowhere in particular, and the voices from the radio - _as long as you're next to me, just the two of us_ _-_ speak softly, blending with the noises of the wind and the passing cars.

He catches glimpses of her every once in a while, noticing how the sunlight shines on her hair and her skin and the bracelets on her wrists. He takes a deep breath, taking in the moment, with his hands on the wheel and his eyes back on the road.

Up ahead, he observes what seems to be a park and slows down for them to inspect better. "How about here?"

.

“It’s so pretty...” The fountain is the main attraction of the park, and it certainly does influence Beverly’s wish to be near it. The breeze going through green leaves on the surrounding trees adds another layer of peace to the scene. _The whole site is like something out of a movie_ , Bev thinks, _one where the main protagonists share a special moment_. “Let’s go.” 

.

Ben whistles at the sight of the place. "Looks like we found paradise." He nods in agreement and pulls into the parking lot. A sign nearby reads Cascade Park.

.

“Something like Eden, yeah...” Bev mumbles to herself as she looks out into the clear blue sky that rises above the utopia.

.

Ben makes the top go back up and turns off the engine before stepping outside. Once he's out, he stretches his arms over his head and sighs. "Wow, even the air seems better here. We're not even that far away from the campus."

.

Beverly hops out of the car, shifting her eyes back to Ben, who seems like he belongs here. “This is really close, I’m surprised there aren’t more people here. This would be a really relaxing place to study in.” She mindlessly places a strand of hair behind her ear and closes the car door. “It’s too bad I can’t come here more often, it’s like ten minutes away by car but probably thirty minutes or more by bike.”

.  


"Well, I'd be happy to drive us here more often, if you want. I mean, we could come here to study when our schedules match," Ben says, smiling nonchalantly while he locks the doors. He puts the keys into his pocket, skipping a bit to catch up until he's walking by her side.

.  


Bev can already picture it: the two of them cruising into Derry in Ben's Cadillac, then picking out what picnic bench to lounge in, books in hand, for the hour they're free. The vision brings a small smile to her face. "Yeah, I'd like that."

She casually moves closer to the tall figure to grab his vacant hand, thinking, _If this is paradise then we might as well act like it._ _  
_

.

The touch of her hand sends shivers up and down Ben’s spine, but he masks them by taking a deep breath. "Alright. I'd like that too," he whispers, face burning red, and slowly, almost afraid of breaking the connection, he starts swinging their hands together as they walk.

Up ahead he notices a couple of kids that seem to be nine or ten years old running around. They seem to run toward them at first but end up turning right, losing themselves among the trees. "What a place they have to play in, huh?"

.

Butterflies roam around Beverly’s torso at an intensity so hard that she cannot bring herself to believe this is not a dream. She has to physically dial down her smile, as her rosy cheeks are on the verge of aching. "Yeah they're lucky, I didn't know this place existed. If I knew about it as a kid I would've snuck down here like every day."

.

"Me too." Ben nods. He tilts his head slightly and looks at her, curious, while they keep walking. "Snuck? Why snuck?"

.

“Oh, uhm...” Bev finds it hard to look at him now so she directs her eyes to the grass. “Well I used to live with my dad and he was always wondering where I was going. If he didn’t like the answer then I couldn’t go, hence why I would sneak out of the house sometimes. I didn’t really leave the house much anyways though, I didn’t have a lot of friends.” _Beverly, stop talking._

.

Ben listens to her, concentrating, taking in all of her words carefully like a treasure, but making sure not to look at her so she wouldn’t feel watched. There's an emotion in her voice that he can't quite grasp, but it makes him hold her hand a little bit tighter without even thinking about it.

After a moment of waiting for her to continue in silence, he speaks again. "I see. Sounds like a strict dad... and it was just you and him? I, uh, it was only my mom and I, too. I didn't have a lot of friends either, spent most of the time hidden in libraries."

.

“Yeah, just me and him.” Bev clears her throat and proceeds to talk in a somewhat cheerier tone, “Well it’s too bad we didn’t know each other when we were younger, we could’ve been lonely together.”

.

"We could've been lonely together," Ben repeats her words, once out loud, and several times to himself. _We could've been lonely together._

.

Beverly spots a nearby bench in their path. “Let’s go sit down.”

.

"Sure, let's go." Ben follows her lead and continues talking while they sit. The sun is looking at them, but the sunlight filtering through the trees is soft on their eyes. "It's crazy, we really could've been friends. Both growing up in Derry, both being alone. I bet we saw each other a couple of times... I wish we had."

.

Bev pulls his arm around her shoulder, keeping their fingers interlocked. Her head naturally rests on him as she thinks back on her childhood.

"It's possible we could've had a class together." Bev sighs. "I think you would've avoided me. I had a reputation of sorts, I guess. No one ever had anything nice to say about me. Not that I actually did anything to provoke them anyways, but it happened, so I just accepted that the other kids wouldn't change their minds no matter how much I protested." Her relaxed voice is a cover for how she really feels when reflecting back on these memories.

.

Ben is surprised by how well they fit together. He feels his heart rate increase when she puts his arm around her, but her story quickly distracts him from his own sensations. The thought of her being mistreated turns his stomach and makes him frown.

"Wow, _pricks_. That's awful, you didn't deserve that, and I don't think I would've avoided you. I never cared about reputations. People are always wrong about them anyway, especially in school. Sometimes they'll just hold on to whatever reason they can find to bring you down, even if it's a lie.”

He looks at her hair and extends his free hand to caress and adjust it, but stops in the middle, hesitant. He changes the movement and scratches his neck instead. “I'm sorry you had to put up with that, and all on your own. You were very brave. I'm sure there were a lot of nice things to say about you, they were just too blind to see."

After a moment of silence and consideration, he continues, "People didn't like me either, because I was fat, you know? I was a fat kid who loved books too much, who only made friends with old ladies and teachers, that was my crime, I guess. Kids would chase me down the hallways, follow me outside of school... I didn't care about that, really, it was only a problem when it became physical." Out of instinct only, Ben moves his hand from his neck to his stomach, right over the scars marked on his skin. "But I managed alright."

.

At first, the corners of Bev’s lips turn up, because she can trust that his response is genuine, but the smile soon fades as Ben talks about his childhood. “You shouldn’t have gone through that alone either. I would’ve stood up for you. It really is a shame we hadn’t met before now. Having _one_ friend could’ve made everything better, and knowing that friend would’ve been you, I’m pretty much certain of it.”

Beverly decides to change positions; she’s never one to stay in one spot for too long. She lays her head on his lap while both calves dangle off the edge of the bench. The sun is in her eyes, but so is Ben Hanscom - a light in her life that, despite knowing him for only a few sporadic hours, she already wishes to be around more and more. Every time she catches a full glimpse of him, Bev’s stomach starts going crazy, performing somersaults. Her face becomes warm and not just because the sun is shining down on them. She closes her eyes for a while, trying to fully bask the moment.

.

His breath hitches when she lays her head on his lap, but Ben does his best to calm down. He smiles at her, contemplating the way the sun bathes her skin, highlighting her features, and her closed eyes let him admire every part of her face a little bit more. Her freckled nose, her coral-stained lips, and the blush on her cheeks. Her eyelashes, and even the way her eyes move under her eyelids. The small indent - a scar, maybe - on the right side of her forehead, and the messy pieces of hair resting over it. Ben finally reaches up and gently moves them away from her face, and as he does he can't help but sigh. Every part of her seems to him like something he’s seen before and for a fraction of a second, as crazy as it sounds, it’s like he’s known all his life that he is bound to love her.

But the frightening _-_ yet exciting _-_ thoughts disappear in the blink of an eye, only leaving traces of unclear but strong emotions still gripping his heart.  

"I would've stood up for you too," he says, completely sure of it, “and yeah, it would’ve been better. But I’m still happy we found each other now.” He looks away from her, feeling somehow anxious and calm at the same time. Slightly embarrassed of his own words, but not regretting them, he clears his throat. “I love this place."

.

If there was any chance she could stay in this position forever, Beverly would take it, and she still can't understand how Ben Hanscom has this effect on her. He can make hours feel like minutes and somehow there still isn't enough time to be around him.

Let it be known that Beverly Marsh _knows_ exactly how crazy this is, risking yet _another_ heartbreak due to the small desire to feel wanted by someone. Boys have always come and gone, providing great evidence that taking chances doesn't work in her favor, and yet there's a need to give Ben a chance. _Maybe this time..._

She tries to peek at him but with the sun in her eyes it causes her to squint and look away. A shady area below a large birch tree catches Beverly's attention, and once again she would like to move around just a little bit more. She gets up from Ben's lap and gives him a warm smile, "C'mon, there's a spot under that tree calling our name."

The two walk hand in hand to the new location and lay down fairly close to each other. For a while, they cloud-watch in comfortable silence. With each breeze that passes by, Bev scoots on closer to Ben, and before long the two bodies are cuddled right next to each other. The white noise coming from all around the park helps them both quickly doze off on the grass.

.

Ben doesn’t know how long they slept, but when he opens his eyes the sky is already tinted with the usual sunset orange. He looks to his side and sees her sleeping, beautiful and calm, which brings a smile to his face as well as a blush to his cheeks all over again. But even if he’s never been as comfortable as he is right this minute _-_ and his eyes are begging to close again _-_ he knows it’s probably time to go.

He takes a deep breath and shakes her arm, only enough to wake her up. “Bev? Bev, come on, we fell asleep. It’s getting late. Time to go.” After a couple of tries, she opens her eyes, and a couple minutes later they reluctantly get up.

Together they walk toward the parking lot, hands still intertwined, but before leaving they lean on the car and take one last look at the park in front of them. In silence, they say goodbye to the fountain, with a promise to come back, and get inside the car.

The ride back home is the happiest and most peaceful Ben Hanscom has felt in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow us/chat with the Losers on Tumblr! [losersincollege](https://losersincollege.tumblr.com)
> 
> Authors on this chapter:  
> Ben - [ao3: hanscomarsh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanscomarsh); [tumblr: hanscomarsh](https://hanscomarsh.tumblr.com)  
> Beverly - [ao3: bcnvcrly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bcnvcrly); [tumblr: bcnvcrly](https://bcnvcrly.tumblr.com)  
> 


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